Prosperity and Stagnation Some Cultural

Prosperity and Stagnation
Some Cultural and Social Aspects

of the Abbasid Period (750–1258)
Orientalia Christiana Cracoviensia
M o n o g r a p h i a e
1
Orientalia Christiana Cracoviensia

Pontifical University of John Paul II
Chair of the History of Religions of the Near and Far East
ul. Kanonicza 9 · 31-002 Kraków · Poland
e-mail: ochc@upjp2.edu.pl
Prosperity and Stagnation
Some Cultural and Social Aspects
of the Abbasid Period (750–1258)
Edited by
Krzysztof Kościelniak
Krakow 2010
Reviewers
Prof. Barbara Michalak-Pikulska
Prof. Maciej Salamon
ISBN 978-83-7643-030-0
UNUM Publishing House

ul. Kanonicza 3
31-002 Kraków
Poland
Phone: +48 (12) 422 56 90
e-mail: unum@ptt.net.pl
http://unum.ptt.net.pl
Preface
The so-called Abbasid age – the rule one of the greatest Sunni
dynasties of the Muslim empire covering the reign of 37 caliphs – by
all means deserves to be thoroughly studied. It was at that time of
acculturation when the Islamic world adopted the output of Greek
science through Oriental Christianity. A number of medieval thinkers
and philosophers who lived under the reign of the Abbasids greatly
contributed to the development of Greek, Hindu and other pre-Islamic
sources of knowledge. Alexandrian mathematics, geometry and astrol-
ogy were considerably developed. The epoch of the Abbasids was the
time of powerful and ambivalent inter-religious interaction, the time
of cooperation but also the time of persecution of Christians, the time
when Muslim schools were formed and when Christians consolidated
on Islamic territory.
It was under the reign of the Abbasids that the differences between
Arabic and non-Arabic populations inhabiting the caliphate were ef-
faced and the empire turned from being Arabic into a Muslim one.
Arabs lost their monopoly power over a vast empire and the Persian
element found its path into the differently formed Khalif court. In this
way the Omayyads barrier between the conquerors and the conquered
appears to have been practically abolished. In spite of the fact that
Abbasid Arab rulers were of Arabian origin, the court language and
model of Islam, was in fact Persian on account of its politics and
imperial administration. During this period the court of Baghdad was
dominated by Persia and not by Arabia with its ministers, Amirs, scribes
and chamberlains. The Khalif army included both Arabic and non-
Arabic soldiers, which caused numerous racial and political problems.
The Abbasids were gradually deprived of all their military prestige
6 Krzysztof Kościelniak
when they lost all their confidence in Arabic soldiers replacing them
by Persian legions and then by the Turkish Guards.
Publication Prosperity and Stagnation. Some Cultural and Social
Aspects of the Abbasid Period is of an interdisciplinary character
presenting the richness of the epoch in a form of studies. The papers
presented by the scholars constitute the fruit of their long-standing
work on these specialist yet extraordinarily significant issues. Some of
the experiences of the epoch may prove useful for the contemporary
dialogue of civilizations, whereas the others constitute examples of
mistakes to be avoided in the future.
Angelika Hartmann
University of Marburg
Social Aspects in Caliph al-Nāṣir li-Dīn

Allāh’s concept of government1
I
When AL-NĀṢIR LI-DĪN ALLĀH, ABU ʾL-ʿABBĀS AḤMAD
came to the throne in 575/1180, he was the 34th ʿAbbāsid caliph. The
wordly power of the ʿAbbāsid caliphate had been restricted for centuries
because of the dominance of the shīʿite Būyids. The dynasty of the
Saldjūḳs even succeeded in making it disappear completely, but al-Nāṣir
restored ʿAbbāsid’s sovereignty. He strengthened and consolidated
the caliphate against all kinds of military, political and ideological
attacks. For the period of his reign (575–622/1180–1225), and down to
that of his grandson al-Mustanṣir, he restored this specifically Islamic
institution to its former prestige. Yet, he unintentionally contributed
to the fall of Baghdād’s caliphate at the hands of the Mongols.
Al-Nāṣir’s policy sought to orient and bind all Muslims to the
caliphate as the sole spiritual and profane centre of this world. The
rapprochement of different and opposite dogmatic trends in Islam,
and perhaps even an attempt to reunite them, was the way he chose.
A sophisticated policy of alliances with Islamic and non-Islamic
1
I would like to thank Heiko Wenzel and Phillip Minnich (both in Gießen) for
helping me with the English translation.
8 Angelika Hartmann
partners served the very same purpose. He also reorganised differ-

ent movements of young men and brotherhoods which were called
futuwwa by establishing it as a men’s confederation attached to the
caliph himself and systematically he spread an encyclical from his
own hand dealing with tradition (ḥadīth) inside the Islamic world.2
II
Let me give you at first an overview of the politico-historical
background. Although al-Nāṣir had an army at his command, the most
important strategic advantages came from his policy of alliances. He
identified the Turkish Khwārazmshāh Tekish as the strongest rival of
his own most feared opponent, the Saldjūḳ sultan Ṭughrıl III. By kill-
ing him with the sword on 29 Rabīʿ I 590/25 March 1194, al-Nāṣir
succeeded in wiping out once and for all the Saldjūḳ dynasty in Persia
with the support of the Khwārazmshāh. Shortly after this victory, al-
Nāṣir felt the need to look for military support from outside against
the Khwārazmshāh himself. He did receive it from the Ghūrids. Years
of mutual provocation and several wars waged by the Ghūrids in the
name of the caliph now followed. In Central Asia, the non-Muslim
2
On the discussion of al-Nāṣir’s policy, religious attitude and cultural activities,
see in detail Angelika Hartmann, an-Nāṣir li-Dīn Allāh (1180–1225). Politik, Religion,
Kultur in der späten ʿAbbāsidenzeit. Berlin-New York 1975 (Studien zur Sprache,
Geschichte und Kultur des islamischen Orients, N. F., Bd. 8), 362 pp. and 4 maps;
eadem, al-Nāṣir li-Dīn Allāh, in: The Encyclopaedia of Islam. New Edition, edd.
C. E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel , W. P. Heinrichs and Ch. Pellat, vol. VII, Leiden-New
York 1993, pp. 996–1003 (English edition), pp. 997–1005 (French edition); eadem, La
conception gouvernementale du calife an-Nāṣir li-Dīn Allāh, in: Orientalia Suecana 22,
1973 (published Uppsala 1974), pp. 52–61; eadem, Ibn Hubaira und an-Nāṣir li-Dīn
Allāh: Sunnitischer Traditionalismus eines Wesirs und seine Überwindung durch die
politische Dialektik eines Chalifen, in: Der Islam 53, 1976, pp. 87–99: eadem, Wollte
der Kalif ṣūfī werden? Amtstheorie und Abdankungspläne des Kalifen an-Nāṣir li-Dīn
Allāh (reg. 1180–1225), in: Egypt and Syria in the Fatimid, Ayyubid and Mamluk
Eras. Proceedings of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd International Colloquium organized at the
Katholieke Universiteit Leuven in May 1992, 1993 and 1994, edd. U. Vermeulen and
D. de Smet, Leuven 1995, pp. 175–205.
Social Aspects in Caliph al-Nāṣir li-Dīn Allāh’s concept of government 9
Ḳarā Khiṭāy, who were eventually on the side of the militarily stronger
Khwārazmshāh, were also implicated.3
al-Nāṣir probably had also entered into negotiations with the
Mongols regarding delaying and overpowering the Khwārazmshāh.
If credence can be given to a contemporary western source,4 al-Nāṣir
was in dire straits because of the Khwārazmian army’s advance on
Baghdād. He had ordered the Catholicos of the Nestorians to request
the intervention of the “mysterious King David” – that means Čingiz
Khān – against the Khwārazmshāh. As a matter of fact, there were
numerous Nestorian Christians in the army of the Mongol ruler. All
Muslim historiographers are silent on this extraordinary, but not un-
likely, mission of a Christian dignitary on behalf of the highest Muslim
ruler to obtain military aid from unbelievers against a Muslim army. In
the 7th/13th century it was only surmised that al-Nāṣir summoned the
Mongols into the Muslim territory by an unspecified embassy.5 A de-
scription of a delegation sent by al-Nāṣir is only found in a chronicle
of the 9th/15th century, but there is also no allusion to Christians.6 It
is impossible to completely uncover the actual events.7 In any case,
the Mongol invasion of the Khwārazmian empire8 started one of the
3
Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 69–79 with special reference on Kāmil, vol. XI,
p. 560; Mirʾāt, fols. 263a–264a, 265b–266a (the decisive passages are missing in the
Ḥaydarābād edition, vol. VIII, pp. 444–445, 449) and Kāmil, vol. XII, pp. 106–109,
112, 135–137, 156–158, 318.
4
Epistulae, pp. 144–147 (a letter of 1221).
5
According to Kāmil, vol. XII, p. 440.
6
Rawḍat aṣ-ṣafāʿ, vol. IV, pp. 397–400.
7
Other historiographers, however, explain the penetration of the Mongols into the
Khwārazmshāh’s Islamic territory as follows: they argue that members of a Mongol
trade delegation had been accused by the Khwārazmshāh Muḥammad II of spying
and had therefore been tortured or killed. This provoked the Mongol’s vengeance.
For further details see Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 83–84; eadem, al-Nāṣir, pp. 997–998.
8
After the death of the Khwārazmshāh Muḥammad II in 617/1220, his son Djalāl
al-Dīn Mankubirnī (or Mingīrnī) continued his father’s legal claim against the caliph.
In 622/1225–1226 he invaded ʿIrāḳ and extended his conquests as far as 200 km
from Baghdād. He declared his battles against the caliph as well as those against the
Mongols to be „Holy War” (djihād). A battle of the Mongols against the Arabs did
not take place because Čingiz Khān withdrew to the East. Thus the Mongol threat
against ʿIrāḳ seemed to have been warded, but in fact it took place some years later.
10 Angelika Hartmann
greatest tragedies in Islamic history.9 The Mongols destroyed Baghdād

in 656/1258 and killed the last ʿAbbāsid caliph.10
On the other hand, in Egypt and Syria, the Ayyūbid ruler Ṣalāḥ
al-Dīn and caliph al-Nāṣir, each with his own appetite for expansion,
sought to enlarge their territories wherever an occasion presented itself.11
III
I am now coming to the discussion of social aspects in al-Nāṣir’s
reign. In view of the events mentioned, al-Nāṣir’s unification and
reorganisation of a federal system which was called futuwwa was
neither bizarre nor an isolated political idea. What is meant by the term
futuwwa? It means a lot of different movements and organizations of
“young men” (fityān) often similar to what might be called a “broth-
erhood.” They had in mind specific ideals like solidarity, honesty,
justice and nobility, but in fact they often behaved like vagrants, and
indeed many of them were outlaws. Their notion of mutual devotion
and comradeship with joined ownership of goods had been got the
meaning of enjoying the popularity of thieves who attack the rich.12
9
The year 618/1221–1222 demonstrated just how unstable the alliance between
al-Nāṣir and the Mongols was, if it ever even existed. The Mongols were preparing
for battle in ʿIrāḳ, and al-Nāṣir had to reckon with their direct attack on Baghdād.
Renouncing earlier enmities and summoning up all of their power, the rulers of Irbil
and al-Mawṣil joined forces with the caliph also under the terms of djihād. They
could not prevent the later catastrophe. See Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, p. 85.
10
See al-Mustaʿṣim biʾllāh, in: Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. VII, p. 753.
11
This happened especially in the so-called al-Djazīra, that is Syria, Lebanon and
parts of Northern Irak. Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn’s army had only been 200 km from Baghdād.
Al-Nāṣir neither could nor would associate himself with the unity of Islam that
Ṣalāḥ al-Dīn so urgently called for when he stressed the notion of djihād against
the crusaders in the West. According to the caliph, Islam should close ranks in the
struggle against the Eastern dynasties which fought against the sovereignty of the
ʿAbbāsid caliphate. The complex and ambivalent relations between the caliph and
the Ayyūbid dynasty is discussed in Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 86–90; eadem, al-
Nāṣir, p. 998; Hannes Möhring, Saladin und der Dritte Kreuzzug, Wiesbaden 1980,
pp. 110–113, 188–190, 196–197.
12
For the futuwwa in general see Claude Cahen, futuwwa, in: Encyclopaedia of
Islam, vol. II, pp. 961–965; idem, Pre-Ottoman Turkey. A general survey of the mate-
rial and spiritual culture and history c. 1071–1330, London 1968, 194–200, 326–340.
In a few words, these social movements were in an anarchic con-

dition at that time. The credit is due to al-Nāṣir for having ethically
consolidated the various forms of the futuwwa which, at his accession
to the throne, hardly kept to the virtuous requirement of the original
ideal of the “young man” (fatā). Al-Nāṣir made these forms an instru-
ment of political power in the service of the caliphate. The reformed
futuwwa provided the caliph with the framework for a new awareness
of solidarity among Muslims of all confessions and social ranks up
to the princes. At the same time, the rules of this newly reformed
community related directly to the person of al-Nāṣir and entailed
dependence on the ʿAbbāsid caliph as the highest authority, even as
“the prayer’s direction” (ḳibla) in the Islamic world.13
Thus the caliphate got two aspects: one was horizontal and could
be called “solidarity”, “social unity” and “equality”, the other was
vertical and was characterized by a strong hierarchy.14
The Ayyūbid historiographer al-Malik al-Manṣūr gives informations
about the different steps leading to the final execution of al-Nāṣir’s
reform in his chronicle Miḍmār.15 Soon after assuming power, the caliph
joined a branch of the futuwwa which was influenced by Ṣūfism. In
578/1182–1183 its shaykh performed with him the rite of initiation,
which consisted of putting on the trousers (sarāwīl) of the futuwwa.16
Al-Nāṣir also established contacts with other leaders of Ṣūfī groups of
fityān.17 The caliph’s turning to the Ṣūfī manifestations of the futuwwa
animated an important section of the population to follow his example
and to take more seriously the required virtues, which had regained
influence in public life. For example, he gradually limited permis-
sion for “shooting with pellets” (al-ramy biʿl-bunduḳ) to himself. He
13
Tuḥfa, fol. 108b.
14
See Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 92–111; eadem, al-Nāṣir, pp. 998–999.
15
For this work see Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 14–17; eadem, Une source primaire
au temps des croisades: Le Miḍmār al-ḥaqāʾiq dál-Malik al-Manṣūr (m. 617/1220),
in: Actas del Congreso de la U.E.A.I. (Union Européenne dÁrabisants et Islamisants)
Málaga 1984, Madrid 1986, pp. 335–367; eadem, al-Malik al-Manṣūr (gest. 617/1220),
ein ayyūbidischer Regent und Geschichtsschreiber, in: Zeitschrift der Deutschen
Morgenländischen Gesellschaft (ZDMG) 136, 1986, pp. 570–606.
16
Miḍmār, p. 86.
17
Miḍmār, p. 177.
also sought to bring pigeon breeding under his control. This brought
about the advantage of being able to supervise communications. In
590/1194 he had all fully-grown carrier pigeons killed in Baghdād
in order to force the population to use only his young pigeons. They
flew on courses fixed by himself18 so that any pigeon message first
came into his hands or into those of his confidants. Everyone needed
to have received a pigeon from him first in order to obtain an audi-
ence with the caliph. This honour guaranteed the noble character of
the receiver. The following saying thus came into being in Baghdād:
receiving a pigeon from the caliph, joining the futuwwa, and the
“shooting with pellets” make it impossible for a man to tell a lie.19
In 599/1203 al-Nāṣir personally decided on the admission of princes
and governors into the futuwwa.20 The caliph thereby confirmed them
as rightful and absolute leaders of the fityān in their territories. Since
he himself was their superior in the hierarchy of the futuwwa, their
adherence also increased their dependence on him. When a prince
joined, all of his subjects were automatically admitted into the futuwwa.
This should have prevented any individualistic trend in the Islamic
community. There remained however a great number of different
groups and “gangs” (ʿayyārūn) in the futuwwa. They vied with each
other and often caused situations that were close to civil war because
of their great power in the districts of Baghdād.21 This caused the
caliph in 604/1207 to issue a decree for a fundamental reform of the
futuwwa. Non adhering to this decree was a capital offence. The new
futuwwa was described as “the purified futuwwa” and was completely
centralised on al-Nāṣir under the following principles:
1. ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib is the unquestionable founder of the futuwwa;
he is the basis of all legal decisions.
2. Caliph al-Nāṣir li-Dīn Allāh is explicitly recognised as emula-
tor of ʿAlī.
3. It is the futuwwa’s task to perform a “purified, imāmite duty,
which grants victory to the religion of Allāh.”
18
Mirʾāt, vol. VIII, p. 437.
19
Miḍmār, p. 180.
20
See Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 107–108.
21
Djāmiʿ, vol. IX, pp. 222, 226, 228
4. Any fatā who maltreats a fellow-member is expelled from the

futuwwa.
5. Authoritative traditions (ḥadīths) of the Prophet himself confirm
the caliph’s legal position when issuing this decree.22
It can be seen that the caliph was very open to the ʿAlīds and even
to the Shīʿites in general.
Al-Khartabirtī, another contemporary writer who also was inclined
to Shīʿism, gives the following information on the reform of the fu-
tuwwa in his Tuḥfat al-waṣāyā.23 Al-Nāṣir changed the genealogy of
the futuwwa by having its tree brought down to his own name from
Adam, through the Prophet Muḥammad and his son-in-law ʿAlī.24 He
also claimed the exclusive right to grant futuwwa titles and orders.
Ibn al-Miʿmār (d. 642/1244), another contemporary historiographer,
describes the hierarchic structure of the entire society of the futuwwa
in his Kitāb al-Futuwwa,25 which is written in the spirit of Islamic law.
All members were “comrades” (rafīḳ, pl. rifāḳ), but were related as
a younger one (ṣaghīr) to an elder one (kabīr), respectively as a “son”
(ibn) to his “father” (ab) and “grandfather” (djadd). The community
of “comrades” (rifāḳ) is called “house” (bayt), and several “houses”
(buyūt) are combined to a “host” (ḥizb, pl. aḥzāb). The supreme master
of all these groups was the caliph.26
Al-Nāṣir established a relation between sharīʿa and futuwwa by
indicating himself as the highest authority. As we know, he called
himself “the prayer’s direction to Mecca” (ḳibla) for all members of
the futuwwa. For this, it was necessary to find a compromise between
Sunnīs and Shīʿites. The caliph could not favour one group over the
other inside the futuwwa. Nor could he accept both groups as being
independent from each other if he wanted to achieve his aim, which
was preserving the community of all believers within the structure
22
Djāmiʿ, vol. IX, pp. 223–235.
23
For this work see Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 32–33.
24
Tuḥfa, fol. 117a–b.
25
For this work see Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 31–32.
26
Kitāb al-Futuwwa, pp. 190–199. The function of the head (naḳīb) of the nobility
in al-Nāṣir’s futuwwa was held by a member of the ʿAlid family of al-Maʿiyya (or
al-Muʿayya?), according to ʿUmdat al-ṭālib, p. 150.
of the state. His policy had to be built necessarily on the common

grounds of the two parties.
In this way, he succeeded in making the futuwwa confederations “an
element of social solidarity” on behalf of the caliphate, although they had
been disorganised and quarrelled among each other before his reform.
Al-Nāṣir thus created a powerful organisation – in addition to his army
– which made his caliphate acceptable as a binding form of sovereignty
for all religious and political factions in Baghdād and in the Islamic
lands. The authority which the caliph thus exercised over his subjects
allowed him to also regain an important portion of his wordly power.
The reorganisation of the futuwwa was more than tactic. It was not
“an artificial reactivation of the caliphate,”27 but it was an effective
political way to attribute greater importance to the ʿAbbāsid caliphate.
This structure of a federal system continued under al-Nāṣir’s succes-
sor. However, the gangs (ʿayyārūn) resumed their attacks resulting in
the weakening of the ʿAbbāsid dynasty in the last years of its exist-
ence in Baghdād. This form of courtly futuwwa came to an end with
the fall of the ʿAbbāsid caliphate at the conquest of Baghdād by the
Mongol Hūlāgū in 656/1258. Since 659/1261 an aftermath survived
in Mamlūk Egypt.
IV
We will examine now some particular relations of the futuwwa to
Ṣūfism. Al-Nāṣir found in the Shāfiʿī Ṣūfī shaykh Abū Ḥafṣ ʿUmar al-
Suhrawardī28 an active propagandist for his legitimation as caliph and
27
As assumed by Franz Taeschner, Futuwwa. Eine gemeinschaftsbildende Idee
im mittelalterlichen Orient und ihre verschiedenen Erscheinungsformen, in: Sch-
weizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde, vol. 50, 1956, p. 143.
28
His personality and religious activities are discussed in Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp.
234–254; eadem, al-Suhrawardī Shihāb al-Dīn Abū Ḥafṣ ʿUmar, in: Encyclopaedia of
Islam, vol. IX, Leiden 1997, pp. 778–782 (English), pp. 812–816 (French); eadem,
Bemerkungen zu Handschriften ʿUmar al-Suhrawardīs, echten und vermeintlichen
Autographen, in: Der Islam 60, 1983 (Festschrift für Albert Dietrich zu seinem 70.
Geburtstag), pp. 112–142; eadem, Sur l´édition dún texte arabe médiéval. Rashf an-
naṣāʾiḥ al-īmānīya wa-kashf al-faḍāʾiḥ al-yūnānīya de ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī, composé
à Baghdād en 621/1224, in: Der Islam 62, 1985, pp. 71–97; eadem, Ismāʿīlitische
for the futuwwa. In fact al-Suhrawardī’s oral and scriptural activities

can be considered as the theoretical basis of al-Nāṣir’s claim to power.
The shaykh supported the union between sunna and moderate Shīʿa
on the one hand, and between futuwwa and Ṣūfism on the other. In all
of his books and treatises the futuwwa is part of Ṣūfism (taṣawwuf).
His theory on the caliphate definitely laid the foundation that Ṣūfism
could be sanctioned by the caliphate. In some of his religious works,
e.g. in his Idālat al-ʿiyān ʿalā ʿl-burhān he develops a theory in which
the concepts of futuwwa, Ṣūfism and caliphate are coordinated in an
ascending order. He considers the caliph appointed by God as the
mediator (wāsiṭa) between the Unique One (Allāh) and the people
(nās); an analogous relationship exists between shaykh and murīd.
As such, the caliph is “God’s representative on earth.”29 This is not
the standard argument in the orthodox Sunnī theory on the caliphate
because the reference to consensus (idjmāʿ) is missing.30 Al-Nāṣir’s
court theologian ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī does not mention idjmāʿ at
all and does not seem to have omitted unintentionally this important
concept of Sunnī law. When he explains that the khalīfa in his function
as Imām is the absolute mediator between God and mankind, he comes
close to Shīʿite views.31 Because of his authority as a teacher and his
Theologie bei sunnitischen ʿulamāʾ des Mittelalters? In: „Ihr alle aber seid Brüder”.
Festschrift für Adel Theodor Khoury zum 60. Geburtstag, edd. Ludwig Hagemann
and Ernst Pulsfort, Würzburg-Altenberge 1990 (Würzburger missions- und religion-
swissenschaftliche Reihe, Religionswissenschaftliche Studien, vol. 14), pp. 190–206;
eadem, Kosmogonie und Seelenlehre bei ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī (st. 632/1234), in:
Gedenkschrift Wolfgang Reuschel. Akten des III. Arabistischen Kolloquiums, Leipzig,
21.–22. November 1991, edd. Dieter Bellmann, Stuttgart 1994, pp. 135–156; eadem,
Cosmogonie et doctrine de l´âme dans l´œuvre tardive de ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī, in:
Quaderni di Studi Arabi 11, 1993, pp. 1–16; eadem, Zum Begriff „Geheimnis” (sirr)
in der islamischen Mystik. Ein Versuch, in: Geimnis und Geheimhaltung. Erschei-
nungsformen – Funktionen – Konsequenzen, ed. Albert Spitznagel, Göttingen-Bern-
Toronto-Seattle 1998, pp. 67–96 (particularly pp. 73–76, 87–90).
29
Idāla, fol. 88a.
30
Since the concept of khalīfat Allāh cannot be deduced directly from the Ḳurʾān,
Ibn Khaldūn argues that the caliphate based on reason; the consensus (idjmāʿ) then
comes secondly and confirms the reason. See al-ʿIbar, vol. I (al-Muḳaddima), pp.
339–340.
31
Hartmann, an- Nāṣir, pp. 118–122, 136–172; eadem, al-Nāṣir, pp. 999–1001.
charismatic function, the Imām comes to stand beyond consensus

in the Shīʿite perspective. According to al-Nāṣir and al-Suhrawardī,
the Imām holds the function of mediator in an absolute way, just as
the Ṣūfī, once he has obtained the dignity of shaykh, is a mediator
between God and the novice (ṭālib, murīd).32
The concept of khalīfa began widening in the 7th/13th century. It was
not only used in its legal and political meaning of amīr al-muʾminīn,
but the language of the Ṣūfi orders calls him “the leader of the ṭarīḳa.”
Al-Suhrawardī and al-Nāṣir demonstrate this ambiguity and use the
term theoretically and practically in both a mystical and political
sense. After the ruling powers had distrusted the Islamic mystics for
centuries, al-Nāṣir was willing to accept the political consequences
from the requirements established by al-Suhrawardī.
Under al-Nāṣir’s caliphate, a purposeful, officially directed turn
to Ṣūfism took place. In his Idāla al-Suhrawardī puts it as follows:
“The exalted caliphate is a register (daftar) and taṣawwuf is part
of it; taṣawwuf in its turn is a register of which the futuwwa is a part.
Futuwwa is specified by pure ethics (al-akhlāḳ al-zakiyya); taṣawwuf
includes pious acts and private religious practices (awrād); the noble
caliphate comprises mystic situations, pious acts and pure ethics.”33
The caliphate is compared with a register to which taṣawwuf and
futuwwa are subordinated. This concept reminds one of the likewise
hierarchical rank of the notions of sharīʿa, ṭarīḳa and haḳīḳa found
in al-Suhrawardī’s Risālat al-Futuwwa.34 Khilāfa and sharīʿa are
the higher concepts which, in their relations to each other, require
unconditional unity.
The caliph employed all of these terms through his protagonist
al-Suhrawardī to take the wind out of the sails of critics. The latter
indeed maintained that al-Nāṣir neglected the requirements of the
sharīʿa. According to contemporary statements, the caliph intended
to give up his governmental function “in the middle of his reign”
in favour of ascetic practices and the life of a ṣūfī. After some time,
however, he distanced himself from this intention and returned com-
32
Idāla, fol. 88a.
33
Idāla, fol. 89a–b.
34
Risālat al-Futuwwa, fol. 186b.
pletely to governmental business.35 At the same time, he had opened

the caliphate to two forms of organisation of human society: the re-
formed confederation of men (futuwwa), and the religious orders of
Ṣūfism (the ṭuruḳ of taṣawwuf). Both came into being simultaeously
and apparently were mutually conditional.36
Together with the reorganisation of the futuwwa al-Nasir started
also another reform. It was the reform of education. It consisted of
creating a new harmony between the sciences but it attempted to sup-
press the speculative and apologetical theology (kalām) as well as the
tendencies favourable to philosophy (falsafa).37 Instead of kalām and
falsafa sermons (mawʿiẓa, pl. mawāʿiẓ) and preaching were recognized
as an official field of science.38 The audience in the convents (ribāṭ, pl.
rawābiṭ) were very often students at the madrasa in al-Nāṣir’s time.
In this way, the subject-matter of the convent influenced the lectures
at the theological colleges.39 The caliph regularly visited intellectual
occasions and heard sermons.40 He also put all items necessary for
maintenance and study at the disposal of the students free of charge.
If coming from outside, the students usually also lived in the ribāṭs.
35
In detail see Hartmann, Wollte der Kalif ṣūfī werden?, pp. 175–205 (particu-
larly pp. 185–202).
36
See Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 109–122.
37
Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 255–262; eadem, Sur l´édition dún texte arabe
médiéval. Rashf an-naṣāʾiḥ al-īmānīya wa-kashf al-faḍāʾiḥ al-yūnānīya de ʿUmar
al-Suhrawardī, composé à Baghdād en 621/1224, pp. 71–97; eadem, Ismāʿīlitische
Theologie bei sunnitischen ʿulamāʾ des Mittelalters?, pp. 190–206; eadem, Kos-
mogonie und Seelenlehre bei ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī (st. 632/1234), pp. 135–156.
38
Angelika Hartmann, Les ambivalences d’un sermonnaire ḥanbalite. Ibn al-Djawzī
(m. en 597/1201), sa carrière et son ouvrage autographe, le Kitāb al-Khawātīm, in:
Annales Islamologiques XXII, 1986, pp. 51–115 and 17 reproductions of the Arabic
manuscript; eadem, Islamisches Predigtwesen im Mittelalter. Ibn al- Djauzī und
sein „Buch der Schlußreden” (1186 n. Chr.), in: Saeculum 38, 1987, pp. 336–366;
eadem, La prédication islamique au Moyen Age. Ibn al- Djawzī et ses sermons (fin
du 6e/12e siècle), in: Quaderni di Studi Arabi 5–6, 1987–1988 (Atti del XII Congresse
dellÚnion Européenne dÁrabisants et Islamisants, Venezia 29 sept.–4 oct. 1986),
Venice 1988, pp. 337–346.
39
Hartmann, Wollte der Kalif ṣūfī werden?, pp. 183–185.
40
Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 201–205.
It was also in the period of the foundation of the ribāṭs that the
Ṣūfī communities developed into hierarchically-organised orders.
The caliph’s attention to the ribāṭs and the origin of the orders – as
could have been described above – apparently coincided with the
reorganisation of the futuwwa.
V
Al-Nāṣir recognized the importance of religious propaganda of the
scholars (ʿulamāʾ); in particular, he acquired the duties and authority
of the traditionists by concerning himself personally with the science
of tradition (ḥadīth).41 He claimed that, as successor of the Prophet
and as the instructing authority, it was his duty to look after the well-
being of the Islamic community in this world and in the hereafter.42 It
reflects the concern of all his undertakings that were directed towards
abolishing the traditional separation of powers which were the worldly
power in the hands of the caliph or sultan and the spiritual power in
the hands of the religious scholars (ʿulamā̓). Al-Nāṣir directed towards
uniting all kinds of power in his own person.
At the same time also the conflict between Shīʿites and Sunnīs –
which for such a long time had shaken the ʿIrāḳī metropolis, just as
today – seemed to have been settled during al-Nāṣir’s reign. The Assas-
sins, so feared before, became loyal allies under al-Nāṣir.43 The caliph
considered this his greatest success in religious matters; right next to
the destruction of the Saldjūḳs as his greatest political achievement.
To sum up: al-Nāṣir had created the opportunity to be accepted on
a larger basis by recognising a direct relation between mystics, social
brotherhoods (futuwwa), thedifferent dogmatic movements in Islam as
represented in the great politico-religious parties of Islam – Sunnism
and Shīʿism – and the caliphate. Al-Nāṣir’s caliphate largely met again
the standards set as an ideal for the function of the Prophet’s successor
after these tasks and their fulfillment had been curtailed for several
41
Hartmann, an-Nāṣir, pp. 206–232; eadem, al-Nāṣir, pp. 1001–1002.
42
43
centuries. Unfortunately, the caliph’s efforts were nullified, only one

generation after his feath, by the Mongol conquest.
Abbreviations of the Arabic, Persian and Latin

sources44
Djāmiʿ: Ibn al-Sāʿī, Djāmiʿ al-Mukhtaṣar fī ʿunwān at-tawārīkh, vol. IX, Bagdad 1934.
Epistulae: Jacobus de Vitriaco, Epistulae, Leiden 1960.
al-ʿIbar: Ibn Khaldūn, al-ʿIbar, vol. I (al-Muqaddima), Beirut 1967.
Idāla: Abū Ḥafṣ ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī, Idālat al-ʿiyān ʿalā ʿl-burhān, ms. Bursa,
Ulu Cami, Tas. 1597, fol. 82b–137b.
Kāmil: Ibn al-Athīr, al- Kāmil fī ´t-taʾrīkh, vols. I–XII, Beirut 1966.
Kitāb al-Futuwwa: Ibn al-Miʿmār, Kitāb al-Futuwwa, Bagdad 1958.
Miḍmār: al-Malik al-Manṣūr, Miḍmār al-ḥaḳāʾiḳ, Cairo 1968.
Mirʾāt: Sibṭ Ibn al-Djawzī, Mirʾāt az-zamān, vol. VIII, Ḥaydarābād 1953; more
complete: ms. Topkapı Sarayı, Ahmed III, no. 2907/13.
Rawḍat aṣ-ṣafāʿ: Mīrkhwānd, Rawḍat aṣ-ṣafāʿ, vol. IV, Teheran 1963.
Risālat al-Futuwwa: Abū Ḥafṣ ʿUmar al-Suhrawardī, Risālat al-Futuwwa, ms.
Aya Sofya 3135, fols. 185a–190b.
Tuḥfa: al-Khartabirtī, Tuḥfat al-waṣāyā, ms. Aya Sofya no. 2049, fols. 108a–177b.
ʿUmdat al-ṭālib: Ibn ʿInaba, ʿUmdat al-ṭālib, Bombay 1318/1900–1901.
44
For a comprehensive bibliography of the Arabic and Persian sources see
Hartmann, al-Nāṣir, p. 1002.
Katarzyna Pachniak
University of Warsaw
The kalām proof for divine creation

The fundamental belief of Muslim philosophy and theology has
been that God is the Creator of the world and all beings. The term
“Creator” means in this context that the world came into existence
after not having existed and that the Creator brought it into existence.
In the opinion of Muslim scholars, both these conclusions are insepa-
rably connected. The creationist thesis has never been questioned in
Islam, often being combined with that concerning God’s eternity and
with the task of proving His existence. Nowadays, all these notions
are premises underlying the Muslim approach to the theory of evolu-
tion. The Qurʾān, the central religious text of Islam, is believed to be
more that the book of God’s inspiration: the Muslims consider the
Qurʾān to be the final revelation of God and His pure word. As such,
all Qurʾānic truths are sacred and must not be questioned. As far as
the issue of creation is concerned, all its aspects were discussed at
length in mediaeval Islam.1
This article focuses on the argument for creation as presented in the
Muslim speculative theology, kalām, particularly by the Ashaʿrītes.
1
Cf. a very important study on philosophical proofs for creation: Herbert
A. Davidson, Proofs for Eternity, Creation and the Existence of God in Medieval
Islamic and Jewish Philosophy, Oxford University Press, New York, Oxford 1987.
See also H. A. Wolfson, The Philosophy of the Kalam, Harvard University Press,
Boston 1979. The influence of Greek philosophy on Muslim debates was surveyed
by Richard Sorabji and William Lane Craig.
22 Katarzyna Pachniak
The kālam thinkers followed the basic line of argument drawn from
Greek Platonic and Neo-Platonist philosophy, but they also invoked
the Qurʾān. Proofs for creation were crucially important for the Muslim
scholars, since from the premise of creation on the one hand, and the
premise of eternity on the other, they demonstrated the existence of
the creator, identified with the deity. At first we ought to refer to the
Qurʾanic argument for creation.
The Holy Scripture tells us repeatedly about God’s act of creation.
“We did not create the heavens and the earth, and everything between
them except for a specific purpose, and for a finite interim” (Q 46 : 3);
“He is the One who created the heavens and the earth in six days – and
His (earthly) domain was completely covered with water – in order
to test you, to distinguish those among you who work righteousness.
Yet, when you say, «You will be resurrected after death”, those who
disbelieve would say, “This is clearly witchcraft»” (Q 11 : 7). God
is described here as follows: “He is the One GOD; the Creator, the
Initiator, the Designer” (Q 59 : 24).
Several terms are used in the Qurʾān for the act of creation, the
most important being khalq, God is referred to as the Creator, khāliq
or bāriʾ. These notions are usually synonymous. However, in some
of the Muslim mediaeval theological works, emphasis has been put
on the fact that bāriʾ had designed the divine act of creation without
a previous model (lā ʿan mithāl).2
The Ashaʾrīte al-Baḡdādī stated that this term meant God “without
any imperfection” or “nothing is obligatory for Him.”3 Since Allāh
is called the Creator, He is one and unique, and this is the core of the
most important Muslim principle, tawḥīd. Most Muslim theologians
have attributed the designation khāliq to God alone.4 In support of
2
Various interpretations of the divine names are discussed in: Daniel Gimaret,
Les noms divins en islam, Cerf, Paris 1988, bāriʾ – p. 284–286; khāliq – p. 280–284.
3
Al-Baḡdādī, Tafsīr asmāʾi Allāh al-ḥusnā, Ms. London, British Library 7547,
in. D. Gimaret, Les noms divins, op. cit., p. 285.
4
In should be noted that some Muʿtazilites claimed that the attribute khāliq
could be ascribed to a non-divine being. But they did not mean to imply another
creator: God alone has the creative power. Man’s creativity is connected to his free
will, since human responsibility for his own acts is suggested. From this point of
view, a man is himself a creator.
The kalām proof for divine creation 23
this, they cited the Qurʾānic verse: “Is there any creator other than
GOD who provides for you from the heaven and the earth? There is
no other god beside Him.” (Q 35 : 3).
In the manner of discussion of many topics concerning God’s act
of creation in the Holy Scripture, an ambivalence of opinion should
be noted.5 Many options were considered. Nevertheless, early on in
the history of Islam, the Muslims did not have at their disposal any
elaborate instruments of theological and philosophical discourse. Dis-
cussion on God and His creation was later elaborated in the Muslim
kalam, a speculative theology.6
Herbert Davidson finds the origins of the Muslim speculations
about the creation of the world by God in John Philoponus’ proofs for
creation. For this reason, they should be briefly presented here. John
Philoponus’ sets of proofs for creation are mentioned in his extant
works only in passing, but were systematically developed in the lost
Contra Aristotelem, which has been partially preserved in Simplicius’
commentaries on Aristotle. Generally, John Philoponus had presented
three sets of proofs, arguing that the existence of an infinite series of
past events was not possible. This is why the universe must have had
5
For example in the question of the amr, which occurs in many Qurʾānic verses in
the sense of “command”. Nevertheless, these fragments formed a point of departure
for further theological and philosophical speculations. Even though these speculations
have been combined with Hellenistic doctrines, they seem to have been originally
conceived by Muslims. Sometimes, particularly in Ismaili philosophy, the amr is
designated as a word (kalima) of God, His command or intermediary between abso-
lutely One, Unique and unknowable God and His first creation, the first Intelligence.
Paul. E Walker, The Ismaili Vocabulary of Creation, “Studia Islamica”, 40, 1974,
s. 75–85; Katarzyna Pachniak, Doktryny ismāʿīlickie w dziełach Al-Kirmāniego,
Dialog, Warszawa 2004, passim.
6
The word kalām is derived from kalām, literally “word”, but this term acquired
the sense of “dispute, controversy”. It would be risky to establish the dates of the very
first speculative discussion in Islam. In the 8th century we are dealing with tendencies
rather than with an established school of kalām. The “golden age” of the kalām fell
on the 9th and 10th c. A common attitude in the kalām was to seek a justification for
theological controversies in dialectical methods deeply rooted in Greek rationalism.
See: L. Gardet, ʿIlm al-kalām, EI2; J. van Ess, Theologie und Gessellschaft im 2 und
3 Jahrhundert Hidschra. Eine Geschichte des religiösen Denks im frühen Islam,
Walter de Gruyter, Berlin, New York 1991, t. II, passim, where the origins of the
kalām are discussed.
its Creator. In the first set of proofs, John Philoponus refers to the
argument from De Generatione and Corruptione by Aristotle. In his
interpretation of Aristotle, Philoponus states in De aeternitate mundi
contra Proclum that an infinite series of transformations of four elements
cannot “actually” exist. He assumes that in such a case in the eternal
world an infinite series of transformations leading up to the generation
of a given particle could not be completed, thus the given particle could
never have come into existence. He assumes that infinity could never
be “transgressed”, and if the number of the particles leading up to the
past had been infinite, the process of generation could have never been
transgressed. In other words: if the generation of one being has been
conditioned by the pre-existence of another being etc., having been
resulted by an infinite chain, the second being could emerge only if
the first had emerged earlier. But the impossibility of the existence of
an infinite series of beings is obvious. Therefore the transformations
in the sublunar world must have their beginning.
John Philoponus’ second argument is derived from the implica-
tions that since infinity could not be exceeded, one infinity cannot
be greater that another. If applied to movements, it means that if
successive infinities were generated, they would increase the number
of those having been generated earlier. And since the number of
infinities cannot be increased, the motions (of celestial orbits, for
example) already generated must be finite in number. It follows that
the universe can have existed only in a finite time. The third of John
Philoponus’ arguments is drawn from the principle that an infinity
cannot be multiplied since it is a sort of addition.
In his second set of proofs for creation, John Philoponus invokes
Aristotle’s principle that a finite body can contain only finite power;
therefore the finite body of the universe could not contain the power
necessary for existence in an infinite past.7 In John Philoponus’ in-
7
For sustaining the motion of the celestial bodies infinite power is needed, but
since bodies are finite, the first cause of the motion cannot be corporeal. “Now that
these points are settled, it is clear that the first unmoved movent cannot have any
magnitude. For if it has magnitude, this must be either a finite or an infinite magnitude.
Now we have already proved in our course on Physics that there cannot be an infinite
magnitude: and we have now proved that it is impossible for a finite magnitude to
terpretation, the physical universe must depend upon an incorporeal

cause. It follows that heavens are hylemorfic and they needed matter
for their existence, therefore they are not self-sufficient and cannot
contain infinite power. They depend on the process of generation and
corruption, and so they needed a creative power, a Creator. The final
conclusion is that whatever is destructible, must have been generated.8
H. Davidson emphasizes that John Philoponus’ proof for creation
could have pervaded the Muslim circles through the intermediary of
the work of the Jewish philosopher Gaon Saʿadyā (Saʿīd al-Fayyūmī,
d. 942). Saʿadyā was born near Fayyūm in Egypt. He wrote in Arabic
and in Jewish and is considered to have been the initiator of several
Jewish disciplines and mediaeval Jewish philosophy. He was an ex-
ponent of Jewish kalām, and his most important philosophical work,
Kitāb al-amānāt wa-ăl-iʿtiqādāt (The book of beliefs and opinions)
was written in Arabic.9 Several generations before Saʿadyā, four ar-
guments that also exhibit an influence of John Philoponus’ thought
had been formulated by the first exponent of Arabic falsafa, al-Kindī.
Because some of al-Kindī’s proofs for creation were utilized by kalām
theologians, we shall shortly discuss them here. He states that time
is infinite, as in the opposite case before every segment of time ad
have an infinite force, and also that it is impossible for a thing to be moved by a finite
magnitude during an infinite time. But the first movent causes a motion that is eternal
and does cause it during an infinite time. It is clear, therefore, that the first movent
is indivisible and is without parts and without magnitude.” Aristotle, Physics, VIII,
10, 267b; tr. R. P. Hardie and R. K. Gaye, University of Adelaide 2007.
8
John Philoponus, De Aeternitate mundi contra Proclum, op. cit., p. 238–241; this
argumentation should have been familiar to mediaeval Muslims from the translation
of John Philoponus’ lost texts Contra Aristotlem, which was probably available in
the Muslim circles through Simplicius’ excerpts. H. Davidson, Proof for Eternity,
op. cit., p. 95–106. See also J., Kramer, A Lost Passage from Philoponus Contra
Aristotelem in Arabic Translation, “Journal of the American Oriental Society”, 85,
1965, p. 308–336.
9
Kitāb al-amānāt wa-ăl-iʿtiqādāt, edition in Arabic script S. Landauer, Leiden
1880; in Hebrew script Y. Kafih, Jerusalem 1970, English translation S. Rosenblatt,
New Haven 1948. His Arabic commentary to the Sefer Yeṣira, which had a deep
influence on Jewish thought, has also survived. Tafsir Kitab al-mabadi, French
translation and commentary: M. Lambert, Commentaire sur le Séfer Yesira ou Livre
de la Création par le Gaon Saadya de Fayyum, Paris 1891.
infinitum there would have been another segment. Since the duration
from the infinite time to the given time should be equal to the duration
from the given time to infinity, the given time would never be reached.
If something is infinite, it cannot be traversed.10 Furthermore, the two
kinds of time are not parallel: infinite time cannot be added to the
finite past time. Al-Kindī also adds an argument from the finiteness
of bodies: for each body is finite, and time is accidental to the body,
therefore time must be finite.11 Any quantitative being cannot actually
be infinite, and time, as a quantitative magnitude, cannot be infinite.
In such a case, an infinite past time should be subject to the process
of increasing, but since for infinity it is not possible, hence past time
must be finite and have its Creator.
Al-Kindī also establishes the coexistence of the body of universe,
motion and time. If the universe were eternal, it would be incessantly
in motion; in the opposite case, if it were stopped, it would never be
restored into motion. The body of universe cannot be infinite in its
existence, but must have its beginning.12 Al-Kindī also underlines
that bodies are composite. Composition and combination are kinds of
change. By definition, composition (tarkīb) removes incomposition,
and this is motion. Therefore, the body of the universe and motion
coexist in time, and cannot result one from another, which means that
the body of universe is finite, because time is finite.
Al-Kindī’s argument is deeply rooted not in the Qurʾānic theology,
but rather in John Philoponus’ sets of proofs.13 In the early period of
Muslim kalām, argument of this kind was utilized by the Muʿtazilīs,
hence they must have been familiar with John Philoponus’ reasoning.
They maintained that God was the Creator of the universe, but they
disagreed on whether God, in addition to beings, had also created
accidents. Even if He had created them, for the mutakāllimūn it was
a weaker proof for creation. The mutakāllimūn stated that khalq is one
10
Al-Kindī, Rasāʾil al-Kindī falsafiyya, ed. M. Abū Riḍā, Cairo 1950, I, p. 121,
205–206.
11
Ibidem, p. 121.
12
Ibidem, p. 116–120.
13
H. Davidson, Proofs for Eternity, op. cit., p. 106–116; R. Walzer; Greek into
Arabic, Oxford University Press, Oxford, p. 190–196.
of God’s attributes, but this conclusion seems to have been rejected

by some of them. They asked: if it was indeed God’s attribute, where
was it before God’s act of creation had been complete? Is it allowed
to say that in pre-eternity God was a non-Creator? In the opinion of
most Muʿtazilīs, creation happened in time, and sometimes God’s act
of creation was connected with His will (irāda). Their attention was
focused on the very difficult problem of connection of God’s act of
creation with His knowledge and wisdom. God has knowledge, which
is one of His Qurʾānic attributes, He is designated as ʿalim, the knowing
one. But does it mean that God had had complete knowledge about
his creatures even before they were created? Does He know who they
are and is their destiny determined in advance? In the Sunni kalām,
we can find more than one answer to all these problems.
As far as God’s creation of the universe is concerned, the mutakāllimūn’s
argument is taken from Greek philosophy. We have just described al-
Kindī’s reasoning on this topic, and an argument for the impossibility
of occurrence of an infinite number of transformations was also used
by two Muʿtazilī theologians, al-Kindī’s approximate contemporaries:
Al-Iskāfī (d. 845) and al-Naẓẓām (d. 854).14 They are both reported to
have reasoned that if an infinite number of past or future events had
had to occur, the present time could never have been reached.15 A lot
of the mutakāllimūns also shared the second one of John Philoponus’
proofs: the universe must have its beginning, since the past increases
incessantly, and infinity cannot be increased and one infinite cannot
be greater than another.
14
Al-Iskāfī maintains that God’s existence could be deduced from the existence
of things. Since his texts are lost, his opinions were preserved in the work of another
Muʿtazilī thinker, Abu al-Ḥusayn al-Khayyāṭ, Kitāb al-intiṣār, ed. A. Nader, Beirut
1957. About the latter: J. van Ess, Al-Khayyāṭ, EI2; Al-Naẓẓm’s works are also pre-
served in short fragments. See Dorothee Eberhardt, Der sensualistische Ansatz und
das Problem der Veräanderung in der Philosophie Muʾammars und an-Naẓẓāms,
Tübingen 1979.
15
But this argument was rejected by two celebrated Muslim philosophers: Ibn
Sīnā and Ibn Rushd. See S. Pines, An Arabic Summary of a Lost Work of John Phi-
loponus, “Israel Oriental Studies”, 2, 1972; I, p. 348; Ibn Rushd, Tahāfut at-tahāfut,
ed. M. Bouyges, Beyrut 1930, I, p. 20.
But it should be underlined that John Philoponus’ proofs for

creation in various interpretations were not the only ones to be used
by Muslim mutakāllimūns. They also presented purely theological
arguments, and now we shall discuss one of them. As far as this kind
of argument is concerned, we can suggest that present-day scholars
have tendencies to disregard them, in favour of philosophical ar-
gumentation.16 An outstanding scholar of the kalām, al-Ashʿarī (d.
935/936), defended the theological orthodoxy using an argumenta-
tion and logical speculations. On the question of the creation of the
universe by God he approved mainly proofs from the Qurʾān and
theology. In his work Kitāb al-lumaʿ17 he evokes Surah 23, 12–14:
“And We did create from a quintessence (of clay), then We placed
him as a drop of sperm (nuṭfa) in a place of rest firmly fixed. Then
We made the sperm into a clot of congealed blood, then of that clot
We made a foetus lump. Then We made out of that lump bones and
clothed the bones with flesh, then We developed out of it another
creature. So blessed be Allah, the Best of creators.” Al-Ashʿarī implies
that man is not able to pass independently, without any help, from
one state into another: from the state of a young man to the state of
an old one, but he needs in this process the causative power of the
Creator (called nāqil, “this one who transfers” by al-Ashaʿrī). It is the
Prime Mover who creates all the states and who allows His creatures
to pass from one to another. Moreover, whatever is eternal, does not
accept transformation or change (intiqāl wa-taḡayyur), so nuṭfa, an
extract of clay etc. cannot be eternal, but must have been created.18
Al-Ashʿarī’s argument for creation was partially adopted by his
followers, but generally they presented more philosophically developed
proofs, having been outgrowths of John Philoponus’ argumentation.
For example, some of the mutakāllimūn used the proof from the im-
possibility of the existence of an infinite chain of cause and effect,
16
For example in Davidson’s work this theological argumentation has been omit-
ted. The scholar has focused on John Philoponus’ proofs. See, Proofs, op. cit., p. 7;
H. Wolfson with some disregard calls these arguments “from the analogy of beings
in the universe”, Philosophy of the Kalam, op. cit., p. 382–383.
17
Al-Ashʿarī, Kitāb al-lumā fī radd ʿalā ahl az-zayḡ wa-ăl-bidaʿ, Beyruth 1987.
18
Ibidem, p. 82–83.
but the standard kalām demonstration for creation became the one
“from accidents.”19 This proof can be summarized as follows: since
accidents are necessarily connected with bodies, and they are subject
to the process of generation (ḥudūṯ), thus bodies also had to be subject
to the same process. Because the universe is also a body, it can be
concluded that it must have been subject to the process of generation.
It is reported that the first Muslim thinker to expound this kind of
argument was one of the early theologians of the Muʿtazilī movement,
Abū al-Huḏayl al-ʿAllāf (d. 842?).20 Abū al-Huḏayl’s argumentation
was known to the Muslim philosophers. In al-Fārābī’s interpretation
it runs as follows: each body is composite, and all composite beings
must therefore be connected with something else and provided by an
accident. Each body of this kind is generated. Any generated being must
not be preceded by a being coexisting with something generated. All
that does not precede what has been created, must exist together with
the latter. Every thing which coexists with the existence of a gener-
ated being, exists after non-existence. And the final conclusion is that
every being existing after non-existence must have been generated.
The universe is a body, it is therefore generated.21
Likewise, later adherents of the ʿAshʿarīte school also advanced
the proof from accidents. For example, one of the mutakāllimūn, al-
Bāqillānī (d. 1013), stated that the universe – the higher as well as the
sublunar world – was composed of atoms and accidents. The latter
are generated, which is proved by the fact that motion is corrupted
in the state of rest. Otherwise motion and rest would be coexisting in
the body, which is not possible.22 The same thinker also developed the
concept of God’s continuous generation: every generation at every
moment of time must be followed by a subsequent one.
19
Davidson, Proofs, op. cit., p. 134–135.
20
See, for example, R. M. Frank, The Metaphysics of Created Being According
to Abu l-Hudhayl al-Allaf, Stambul 1966.
21
Al-Fārābī, Kitāb al-qiyās as-saḡīr, ed. M. Türker, „Revue de la faculté de Langues,
d’Histoire et de Géographie de l’Université d’Ankara”, 16/3–4, 1958, p. 262–263.
22
Al-Bāqillānī, Kitāb al-tamhīd fī ar-radd ʿala al-mulḥida wa-ăl-muʿaṭila wa-
ălrāfiḍ wa-ăl-muʿtazila, ed. R. McCarthy, Beyruth 1957, p. 22–23.
A short time after al-Bāqillānī, his ʿAshaʿrīte follower, ʿAbd al-

Qāhir al-Baḡdādī (d. 1038), the author of the great treatise Kitāb usūl
al-dīn (Book of fundaments of religion), wrote on the same topic. He
presents arguments from accidents. The universe is composed of two
elements: the substance and the accident. All substances are associ-
ated with quality (lawn), whereas accidents are their attributes (ṣifāt),
such as motion or rest, warmth or coldness etc. From this, it could be
concluded that the creation of the universe could be a reliable thing,
since substances and accidents are generated.23 We are not allowed
to maintain that a particular accident could be concealed or could
appear, instead of this a statement about changes in a particular body
could be put forward, but it should be remembered that no accident
could traverse from one body to another if its state has been changing.
It means that all accidents were generated in the substance. A body
cannot exist without accidents, and since the generated accidents are
not preceded by bodies, therefore the latter must be created.24
Another kalām thinker, al-Juwaynī (d. 1085) from Nishapur, called
imām al-ḥarāmayn (“imam of two shrines”), and the master of the
celebrated al-Ḡazālī, also employed in his treatise, Kitab al-irshād,
the proof of creation drawn from Greek philosophy. He establishes
that if the infinite past time or an infinite series of past events should
be traversed, the present moment would have never been reached.25 In
his treatise Kitāb al-lumaʿ al-adilla he presents a classical example of
an argument from accidents. He insists that an eternal thing (qadīm)
really exists. Its existence has no beginning (lā awwal lī-wujūdihi),
but it is generated like a being with its beginning. In his proof for crea-
tion he also considers argumentation from accidents and substances.
The universe must have been generated – he claims – because all
bodies in this universe are associated with created accidents (ʿaraḍ),
which one could not survive, since they are not eternal, therefore the
universe is not eternal either.26 The accidents are generated, and the
substance (jawhar) has to be necessarily associated with them. In
23
Al-Baḡdādī, Kitāb usūl al-dīn, Beyruth 1981, p. 33–34, 55–56.
24
25
Al-Juwaynī, Kitāb al-irshād, Kair 1950, p. 26.
26
Al-Juwaynī, Kitāb al-lumaʿ al-adilla, Beyruth 1987, p. 175.
al-Juwaynī’s opinion, motion and rest are not part of the substance
(dhāt) of the body, but they are accidental. The accidents are gener-
ated, not eternal, for if they were eternal, they would have existed
eternally, their non-existence (ʿadam) would not have been allowed.
The substances are in turn associated, connected or opposite. It could
be concluded that a union (ijtimāʿ) or diversity (iftirāq) should exist
in them. Neither could the bodies be deprived of the attributes of
motion and rest, stop, moving or changing from one state to another.
For this reason, the existence of the substance deprived of accidents,
which are generated, could not be suggested. All generated beings
must have their beginning. In consequence, the universe had to be
generated by its Creator, who gives to this universe its particularity.27
Al-Juwaynī’s pupil, the celebrated theologian and mystic al-Ḡazālī
(d. 111) also advances a proof from creation to show the impossibility
of existence of an infinite number (of souls, of the past segments of
time etc). In his polemical treatise Tahāfut al-falāsifa (Incoherence
of the philosophers), he maintains that eternity would impose an ac-
cumulation of the infinite number of immortal souls in the actuality,
or at least a probability of such a situation would be allowed, which
is not possible.28
His treatise Al-Iqtiṣād fī ăl-iʿtiqād29 begins with the statement that
the universe is not composed from body, heaven and the earth, but
that all these elements are generated by God (ṣanu Allāh).30
Then he presents the proof for creation we have repeatedly quoted
above, namely the Philoponian proof from the impossibility of exist-
ence of an infinite series of past events and from accidents. All that
comes into existence must have a cause of its coming into existence,
and since the universe is created, it also has its cause, since whatever
27
Ibidem, p. 176–177.
28
Al-Ḡazālī, Tahāfut al-falāsifa, ed. M. Bouyges, Beyruth 1927, § 8 i 22.
29
This treatise is commonly recognized as a very untypical example of the kalām
method of reasoning. Here and there Al-Ḡazālī proves the thesis entirely opposite
to the ones accepted in the kalām theology or he deduces contrary to the kalām pat-
tern. Richard Frank, Al-Ghazālī and the Ash’arite School, Duke University Press,
Durham, London 1994, p. 30.
30
Al-Ḡazālī, Al-Iqtiṣād fī ăl-iʿtiqād, Beyruth 1983, p. 5.
comes into existence must have its cause. He defines the Universe as
all existing beings (bodies and their accidents), except God.31 The be-
ings are either linked with others or not. The being which is deprived
of any connection is called an individual substance (jauhar farḍ). An
accident needs a body, and only God does not need any accident for
existence. The universe was created, since all its bodies and accidents
have also been created. The proof for the creation of beings runs as
follows: they are generated as they possess rest and motion, both of
them also generated. This conclusion seems to have been self-evident
in the Sunni kalām, and was very often advanced by the theologians.
If they had been eternal, the possibility of their non-existence (ʿadam)
would have been not allowed. God is eternal, therefore non-existence
is not permitted for Him, and He is deprived of any accidents, because
He is a simple being. When the object is in rest, it is deprived of the
accident of motion, and vice versa. Mā lā yakhlu ʿan al-ḥawādiṯ fa-
huwa ḥādiṯ – that which contains created things, is also generated.
The substance is also generated, since it comprises the accidents of
motion and rest, and motion could be hidden or could be brought into
appearance. Moreover, the accident needs its own place (maḥall), just
as the substance ought to have its location. But in both of these cases
the location and the place are not in the substance of the universe.
It could be concluded that it had to have been generated.32 It should
be noted that al-Ḡazālī takes up the argumentation of his ʿAshʿarīte
predecessors, for example al-Baḡdādī in Kitāb al-usūl.
Al-Ḡazālī advanced argumentation based on John Philoponus’ third
proof that the existence of an infinite number of past events was not
possible. John Philoponus referred here to the motion of the planets,
having suggested that since this motion was different, one infinite
being in the eternity should have been the replication of another one.
And such a conclusion is not allowed. Al-Ḡazālī maintains that if the
universe had been eternal, an infinite number of planetary motions
would have come into existence, which is not possible.33 He also adds
that the cause of the generation of the universe must be eternal, since
31
Ibidem, p. 19.
32
33
Ibidem, p. 24.
if it had been created, it would have needed another cause, and so on.
But this chain of cause and effect has to have its own creator, who is
also the Creator of the universe. If it could be called eternal, it means
that its existence cannot be preceded by a non-being.34
Generally, it could be concluded that in al-Ḡazālī’s argumentation
the process of creation (khalq, ikhtirāʿ)35 consists in the definition of
the existence of some being or event independently of the indefinite
possibility of its coming into existence or non-coming into existence.
And since all events in the sublunar world depend absolutely on the
preceding action of the celestial and universal causes, which had
been generated and organized by God, we can say therefore that the
act of creation consists in the bringing into existence of the action of
a series of causes and effects or of the existence of all elements in the
particular series.36 And it is God who makes the causes be the causes
of the effects, He is therefore the peripatetic First Cause. Moreover,
the existence of everything is primordially determined in its existence
or abstractive non-existence and as such it is generated in the initial
generation (ijād, ikhtirāʿ) of the universe, although this process of the
generation is the effect of a series of different indirect causes. From
this it could be concluded that God not only acts as the First Cause,
the First Mover, but also that He creates secondary things, since, as
al-Ḡazālī repeatedly emphasizes in his treatises, He has an absolute
power over all His creation. No element of nature, sun, moon or
stars, does act on its own, on the contrary: they all are instruments
of the Creator.37 These elements are not emanated, but they are ef-
fected by secondary causes, which also had been generated by God.
In al-Ḡazālī’s ontology of created beings, different influences can be
perceived: on the one hand, he is a typical kalām theologian and an
34
Ibidem, p. 27.
35
M. Frank emphasizes that Al-Ḡazālī sometimes uses these terms differently:
the first one as a synonym of the term qaddara (to determine), whereas the latter
as a synonym of awjada (to bring into existence). The term khalaqa is therefore
used in the sense of God’s creation, which is the first generation of the universe in
God’s knowledge, wisdom and will. Ikhtirāʿ is the primordial systematization of the
universe, in which all the past events had been determined. Al-Ḡazālī, op. cit., p. 37.
36
Ibidem.
37
Al-Ḡazālī, Al-Munkidh min al-ḍalāl, Beyruth 1993, p. 95.
exponent of the Ashʿarīte school. It is particularly discernible when

it comes to the problems of substance. The scholar details here two
kinds of substances, and the description of beings as a combination
of the substances is a typical example of the kalām atomism. On
the other hand, however, in al-Ḡazālī’s theories, the influence of the
philosophical ideas, John Philoponus’ proofs for creation as had been
examined above, and the proof by accidents, drawn from the kalām
and from philosophy, could be noticed.
Another proof for creation popular in the Muslim kalām was an
argument from the composition of the universe, which was also as-
sociated, though not in every instance, with the existence of God.
Some scholars emphasise that since the composition of the universe
combines many, sometimes contrary qualities, it should be the ef-
fect of an action of a superior external power. Moreover, the design
evidenced in the composition of the universe must be due to such
a cause, to an Agent, The First Cause. By this kind of argumentation
the creation of the universe as well as the existence of God could be
proved.38 As mentioned above, some of these arguments were focused
on the absolute purposeness of the composition of all universe and
its contrary qualities. Both groups, the theologians and the philoso-
phers, also referred to the concept of particularization. They tried to
persuade the reader that every body has its particular dimension, is
posited in a particular place and has particular qualities. An external
agent, therefore, has to exist and to give them this particularization
(ikhtiṣāṣ). All the Ashʿarītes mentioned this argument in their treatises.
*
It may be concluded that Muslim scholars put forward three separate
paradigms of creation, and consequently, of eternity and time.39 Above
38
For example, the theologian and jurist al-Māturīdī (d. 944), a defender of the
conception of the superiority of the revelation over reason, maintains in his most
important treatise, Kitāb al-tamḥīd, Beyruth 1970, p. 18, that no object which the
contraries are composite in could be generated independently, but for it the causative
Agent (fāʿil) is categorically needed.
39
Time in Islam, see: L. E. Goodman, Time in Islam, “Asian Philosophy”, 2/1,
1992, p. 3–16; G. Böwering, Ideas of Time in Persian Sufism, in: L. Lewisohn (ed.),
The Heritage of Sufism, vol. I, Classical Persian Sufism From its Origins to Rumi,
all, the Qurʾānic conception of eternal God, who had generated the
universe ex nihilo has been commonly accepted. Secondly, a group of
scholars acknowledged an Aristotelian conception of God, the First
Mover, for whom the eternal universe was a supplement. And finally,
some of the Muslim Neoplatonic philosophers emphasized the con-
cept of an absolutely transcendent First Being, from whom emanates
a series of other beings. God’s relation to them is one of ontological
superiority, rather than superiority in time. The Qurʾānic argument
suggests that God created the universe in a deliberate and intentional
act, which was part of God’s project in relation to his creatures. The
arguments used by the kalām scholars were diverse: from typically
theological proofs to philosophical ones, often drawn from John Phi-
loponus’ thought. The most popular reasoning was: the impossibility
of accomplishment of an infinite number of transformations, hence the
universe must have its beginning. But apart from Greek philosophi-
cal considerations, theological ones, drawing on the Qurʾān and the
Sunna, were also applied by the Muslim mutakāllimūn, for example
by al-Ashʿarī and his followers. The proof from accidents was also
commonly used: the scholars maintained that since accidents had been
generated, the universe must therefore have been generated as well.
Oneworld, Oxford 1999, p. 199–233; K. Pachniak, Isma’ilickie wyobrażenia o naturze

czasu, “The Peculiarity of Man”, vol. 9, Kielce-Warszawa 2004, p. 93–103.
Christopher Melchert
University of Oxford
Māwardī, Abū Yaʿlá,

and the Sunni Revival
The most famous medieval work of Islamic political theory is
al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah of the Shāfiʿi jurisprudent al‑Māwardī (d. Bagh-
dad, 450/1058). It was edited in Germany in the nineteenth century,
translated into French in the early twentieth, and into English twice
in the 1990s.1 As for historical scholarship, it was made the subject of
a celebrated essay by H. A. R. Gibb in 1937, which situated its descrip-
tion of the caliph’s powers in the context of the Sunni Revival as Būyid
power waned and powerful new Sunni dynasts waxed in Ghaznah
and Transoxania.2 Henri Laoust followed Gibb’s lead by developing
1
Al‑Māwardī, Maverdii Constitutiones politicae, ed. Max Enger (Bonn: Adol-
phum Marcum, 1853); idem, Les statuts gouvernementaux, trans. E. Fagnan (Algiers:
Adolphe Jourdan, 1915); idem, The Laws of Islamic Governance, trans. Asadullah
Yate (London: Ta-Ha, 1996); idem, The Ordinances of Government, trans. Wafaa
H. Wahba, Great books of Islamic civilisation (Reading: Garnet, 1996).
2
H. A. R. Gibb, ʿAl‑Māwardī’s Theory of the Khilāfahʾ, Islamic Culture (Hy-
derabad) 11 (1937): 291–302; repr. idem, Studies on the Civilization of Islam, ed.
Stanford J. Shaw and William R. Polk (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1962),
151–65. For the Sunni Revival, v. Makdisi, Ibn ʿAqīl (Damascus: Institut Français
de Damas, 1963), chaps. 2, 4; idem, “The Sunnī Revival”, Islamic Civilization
950–1150, ed. D. S. Richards, Papers on Islamic History 3 (Oxford: Cassirer, 1973),
155–168; and Erika Glassen, Der mittlere Weg: Studien zur Religionspolitik und
Religiosität der späteren Abbasiden-Zeit, Freiburger Islamstudien 8 (Wiesbaden:
Franz Steiner, 1981), chap. 2.
38 Christopher Melchert
Māwardī’s biography, especially his personal involvement in politics.3

Meanwhile, however, another work by the same title from exactly the
same place and time had been edited: al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah by the
Ḥanbali jurisprudent Abū Yaʿlá ibn al‑Farrāʾ (d. Baghdad, 458/1065).4
In 1974, there appeared both a brief comparison of the two by Don-
ald Little and a dissertation at al‑Azhar on Abū Yaʿlá’s book (later
published in Beirut) by the Jordanian scholar and political activist
Abū Fāris.5 Unfortunately, neither of these studies seems to have had
much effect on subsequent scholarly use of Māwardī, which has by
and large ignored the comparison with Abū Yaʿlá.6 I shall argue that
Abū Yaʿlá’s version more likely preceded Māwardī’s than the other
way around. I think I can develop more fully than earlier writers the
context of the two books in the establishment of four Sunni schools
of law. I once thought that a comparison should help us above all to
distinguish between what was generally believed at that time and
what is peculiar to Māwardī. But now I am more inclined to remind
scholars that these are only incidentally works of political thought,
overwhelmingly works of Islamic law.
3
Henri Laoust, “La pensée et l’action politiques dʾal‑Māwardī (364–450/974–
1058)”, Revue des études islamiques 36 (1968): 11–92.
4
Abū Yaʿlá ibn al‑Farrāʾ, al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah, ed. Muḥammad Ḥāmid al‑Fiqī
(Cairo: Maktabat Muṣṭafá al‑Bābī al‑Ḥalabī, 1356/1938; repr. with continuous pagina-
tion 1386/1966; repr. Beirut: Dār al‑Kutub al‑ʿIlmīyah, 1403/1983). Henceforward,
citations will be of the reprint of the 1966 edition.
5
Donald P. Little, “A New Look at al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭāniyya”, Muslim World 64
(1974): 1–15, with a fuller review than mine of previous European scholarship at
1–5; Muḥammad ʿAbd al‑Qādir Abū Fāris, al‑Qāḍī Abū Yaʿlá al‑Farrāʾ wa‑kitābuhu
al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah (Beirut: Muʾassasat al‑Risālah, 1403/1983). Abū Fāris’
dissertation submitted and accepted in 1394/1974, while it was first published as
a book in 1400/1980.
6
e.g. Eric J. Hanne, “Abbasid Politics and the Classical Theory of the Caliph-
ate”, Writers and Rulers: Perspectives on their Relationship from Abbasid to Safavid
Times, ed. Beatrice Gruendlier and Louise Marlow, Literaturen im Kontext: Arabisch-
Persich-Türkisch 16 (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 2004), 49–71. Let me acknowledge here
the influence on me of an unpublished seminar paper by fellow Makdisi student
Sherman Jackson, arguing for the priority of Abū Yaʿlá’s version on the ground
that he ought to have met Māwardī’s arguments much better had he come second.
Māwardī, Abū Yaʿlá, and the Sunni Revival 39
The Sunni Revival

Roughly, ʿAbbāsid power declined from the Fourth Civil War,
195–198/810–8113, till the accession of al‑Muʿtamid in 256/870, under
whom at least some measure of political stability was restored, then
again from the accession of al‑Muqtadir in 295/908. Politically, this
meant instability at the centre, as military leaders increasingly dictated
policy to caliphs and from time to time deposed and replaced them,
also the rise of new dynasties on the periphery (e.g. Sistan conquered
by Yaʿqūb al‑Ṣaffār in 251/865, Egypt effectively independent from at
least 263/877) that of course refused to transfer tribute to the centre.
Economically, this meant the decline of revenues from both the prov-
inces and from Iraq itself, whose population probably declined from
the later ninth century and plunged from the eleventh.7 The warlord
Ibn Rāʾiq was formally recognized as amīr al‑umarāʾ in 324/936. In
334/945, the title was bestowed on Muʿizz al‑Dawlah Aḥmad, leader
of a Daylami family, the Būyids (alternatively, “Buwayhids”), who
was formally not even Sunni but a Twelver Shiʿi. Having occupied
Baghdad itself, the Būyids continued to rule until 447/1055.
Religiously, the ninth century saw the triumph and consolidation
of Sunnism. In the early ninth century, ahl al‑sunnah wa‑al‑jamāʿah
were one party among others, distinguished by their insisting on
revelation and especially hadith as the sole basis of theology and
law. Al‑Maʾmūn instituted the Inquisition in 218/833 to establish
that the caliph dictated orthodoxy, not traditionists (collectors and
critics of hadith), but his successor al‑Mutawakkil gave up the fight
over the first five years of his caliphate, 232–237/847–852.8 By the
beginning of the tenth century, the familiar Sunni schools of law were
beginning to form, distinguished from the earlier personal schools
by their devotion to commentaries on the works of the eponyms and
their disciples and by a regular system of forming students.9 Sunn-
7
Robert McC. Adams, Land behind Baghdad (London: Univ. of Chicago Press,
1965), 84–5, 115.
8
V. The Encyclopaedia of Islam, new edn., s.v. “Miḥna”, by M. Hinds.
9
V. Christopher Melchert, “The Formation of the Sunnī Schools of Law”, The
Formation of Islamic Law, ed. Wael B. Hallaq, The Formation of the Classical Islamic
ism became the great default category for all but Shiʿi Muslims and
the remaining Muʿtazilah.
Even though they were Shiʿi, the Būyids did not abolish the
ʿAbbāsid caliphate, since the last of the Twelver Imams had gone
into occultation by then and it was politically convenient to maintain
a subordinate ʿAbbāsid, especially vis à vis the Fāṭimids in North
Africa and Egypt.10 But Būyid overlordship did mean a measure of
protection for the Twelver Shiʿah in their realm. The classical period of
Twelver Shiʿism runs from the work of the traditionist al‑Kulaynī (d.
329/941?) to the jurisprudents Ibn Bābawayh al‑Ṣadūq (d. 381/991–992),
al‑Shaykh al‑Mufīd (d. 413/1022), and al‑Ṭūsī Shaykh al‑Ṭāʾifah (d.
458/1065–1066?). It also meant patronage for Persian and Hellenistic
learning in addition to Arabo-Islamic.11
Būyid power waned from the later tenth century, as intestine rival-
ries weakened the dynasty and the rise of new dynasties to the West,
especially those of Maḥmūd ibn Sebüktegin of Ghaznah (d. 21/1030),
then the Selchūqids of Transoxania, threatened to supplant them in
their core territories of the Jibal (ancient Media), Fars (ancient Persia),
and Iraq. The caliph had no military power at his command, but he
could threaten to recognize someone else than the leading Būyid as
overlord–as, for example, al‑Qādir not only appointed Maḥmūd of
Ghaznah governor of Khurasan and Ghaznah, in place of the Sāmānids,
but gave him the titles Yamīn al‑Dawlah and Amīn al‑Millah. Here,
the turning point seems to have been, ironically, Abū Kālījār’s demand
in about 429/1038 to be recognized as shāhanshāh, “king of kings”,
which implicitly recognized the Būyids’ dependence on the caliph for
World 27 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 351–66.

10
On the evolution of Shiʿism in the earlier tenth century, v. Verena Klemm, “The
Four Sufarā” of the Twelfth Imāmʾ, trans. Gwendolyn Goldbloom, Shīʿism, ed. Etan
Kohlberg, The Formation of The Classical Islamic World 33 (Aldershot: Ashgate,
2003), 135–152. On the evolution of Twelver law over the next century, v. Devin
J. Stewart, Islamic Legal Orthodoxy: Twelver Shiite Responses to the Sunni Legal
System (Salt Lake City: Univ. of Utah Press, 1998), and Robert Gleave, “Between
ḥadīth and fiqh: The “Canonical” Imāmī Collections of akhbār”, Islamic Law and
Society 8 (2001): 350–382.
11
A classic survey is Adam Mez, The Renaissance of Islam, trans. Salahuddin
Khuda Bukhsh and D. S. Margoliouth (London: Luzac and Co., 1937).
their title.12 As the Būyids weakened, the caliphs increasingly played

up their devotion to Sunnism.
Al‑Māwardī
Abū al-Ḥasan ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad ibn Ḥabīb al‑Māwardī was
a Muslim polymath. He was born in Basra, 364/974, and died in
Baghdad, 30 Rabīʿ I 450/27 May 1058.13 The nisbah by which he is
famous refers to the preparation and sale of rose-water14; however, it
is not known when this had last been the occupation of our Māwardī’s
family. Māwardī studied Shāfiʿi law in Basra under Abū al‑Qāsim
al‑Ṣaymarī (d. after 386/996–997) and in Baghdad under the reputed
renewer (mujaddid) of the turn of the century, Abū Ḥāmid al‑Isfarāyinī
(d. Baghdad, 406/1016).15 Both teachers connect him with the sequence
of teachers and students that begins with Ibn Surayj (d. Baghdad,
306/918), reputed renewer of the turn of the previous century, who
12
Wilferd Madelung, “The Assumption of the Title Shāhanshāh by the Būyids”,
Journal of Near Eastern Studies 28 (1969): 84–108, 168–183, esp. 181–183.
13
For pre-modern biographies, v. mainly al‑Khaṭīb al‑Baghdādī, Tārīkh Baghdād,
14 vols. (Cairo: Maktabat al‑Khānjī, 1349/1931; repr. Cairo: Maktabat al‑Khānjī and
Beirut: Dār al‑fikr, n.d.), 12 : 102–103 Tārīkh Madīnat al‑Salām, ed. Bashshār ʿAwwād
Maʿrūf, 17 vols. (Beirut: Dār al‑Gharb al‑Islāmī, 1422/2001), 13 : 587 (henceforward,
citations of this edn. in italics), and Yāqūt, Irshād al‑arīb ilá maʿrifat al‑adīb, ed.
D. S. Margoliouth, E. J. W. Gibb Memorial Series 6, 7 vols. (Leiden: E. J. Brill,
1907–1927), 5 : 407–409; ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās, 7 vols. (Beirut: Dār al‑Gharb al‑Islāmī,
1993), 5 : 1955–1957. The last includes further references in a note. Among modern
biographies in Arabic, I have been able to consult Muḥammad Sulaymān Dāwūd
and Fuʾād ʿAbd al‑Munʿim Aḥmad, al‑Imām Abū al‑Ḥasan al‑Māwardī (Alexandria:
Muʾassasat Shabāb al‑Jāmiʿah, 1978), which collects many useful facts but is not
always reliable in detail. For example, it confuses Māwardī’s honorary title aqḍá
al‑quḍāh with the post qāḍī al‑quḍāh (17).
14
Al‑Samʿānī, al‑Ansāb, s.v.
15
On al‑Ṣaymarī (ʿAbd al‑Wāḥid ibn al‑Ḥusayn), v. al‑Dhahabī, Siyar aʿlām
al‑nubalāʾ, ed. Shuʿayb al‑Arnaʾūṭ, & al., 25 vols. (Beirut: Muʾassasat al‑Risālah,
1401–1409/1981–1988), 17 : 14–15; on Abū Ḥāmid al‑Isfarāyinī (Aḥmad ibn
Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad), v. ibid., 193–197, with further references.
effectively founded the classical Shāfiʿi school by developing a regular

curriculum for the formation of Shāfiʿi jurisprudents.16
Chiefs of the Baghdadi Shāfiʿi School and Their

Teachers
1. Abū al‑ʿAbbās Ah.mad ibn ʿUmar ibn Surayj17;
2. Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm ibn Aḥmad al‑Marwazī (d. Ḥulwān, Egypt,
340/951),18 learnt jurisprudence < 1;
3. Abū ʿAlī al‑Ḥasan ibn al‑Ḥusayn ibn Abī Hurayrah (d. 345/956),19
< 1 and 2;
4. Abū ʿAlī al‑Ḥusayn ibn al‑Qāsim al‑T.abarī (d. 350/960–961),20 < 3;
5. Abū al‑Ḥusayn Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad Ibn al‑Qaṭṭān
al‑Baghdādī (d. 359/970),21 < 1 and 2;
6. Abū al‑Ḥasan ʿAlī ibn Aḥmad ibn al‑Marzubān (d. 366/977),22 < 5;
7. Abū al‑Qāsim ʿAbd al‑ʿAzīz ibn ʿAbd Allāh al‑Dārakī (d.
375/986),23 < 2;
8. Abū Ḥāmid Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad al‑Isfarāyinī, < 6 and 7.
9. Abū al‑Ṭayyib Ṭāhir ibn ʿAbd Allāh al‑Ṭabarī (d. 450/1058),24
< Abū ʿAlī al‑Zujājī (d. ca 400/1009–1010)25 in Āmul, < Abū Saʿd
(Saʿīd) al‑Ismāʿīlī (d. 396/1006)26 and Ibn al‑Kajj (d. 405/1015)27 in
16
Christopher Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, Studies in
Islamic Law and Society 4 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), chap. 5.
17
Al‑Subkī, Ṭabaqāt al‑shāfiʿīyah al‑kubrá, ed. Maḥmūd Muḥammad al‑Ṭanāḥī
and ʿAbd al‑Fattāḥ al‑Ḥulw, 10 vols. (Cairo: ʿĪsá al‑Bābī al‑Ḥalabī, 1964–1976),
3 : 21–39.
18
V. Dhahabī, Siyar 15 : 429–430, with further references.
19
Subkī, Ṭabaqāt 3 : 256–263.
20
21
Dhahabī, Siyar 16 : 159.
22
Subkī, Ṭabaqāt 3 : 346.
23
24
Dhahabī, Siyar 16 : 429–430, with further references.
25
26
27
Gurgan, < Abū al‑Ḥasan al‑Māsarjisī (d. 384/994)28 in Nishapur, and

< Abū Muḥammad al‑Bāfī (d. 398/1007)29 and 8 in Baghdad.
The Intellectual Lineage of Abū al‑Qāsim al‑Ṣaymarī

1. Abū Ḥāmid Aḥmad ibn Bishr al‑Marwarrūdhī (d. 362/972–973),30
learnt jurisprudence < Abū Isḥāq al‑Marwazī and Abū ʿAlī al‑Ḥusayn
ibn Ṣāliḥ ibn Khayrān (d. 320/932?)31;
2. Abū al‑Fayyāḍ Muḥammad ibn al‑Ḥusayn al‑Baṣrī (d. ca
375/985–986?),32 < 1;
3. Abū al‑Qāsim ʿAbd al‑Wāḥid ibn al‑Ḥusayn al‑Ṣaymarī, < 2;
Not Māwardī but his contemporary Abū al‑Ṭayyib al‑Ṭabarī (d.

450/1058) became chief of the Baghdadi Shāfiʿīyah.33 Neither had
Māwardī any illustrious disciples in Islamic law. Still, he was a major
figure in the elaboration of Shāfiʿi doctrine, especially at the level of
positive law (furūʿ). In a highly detailed survey of Shāfiʿi law, the Majmūʿ
of al‑Nawawī (d. Nawa, 676/1277), Māwardī is the fourth most often-
cited authority, behind Imām al‑Ḥaramayn but ahead of al‑Ghazālī.34
Al‑Khaṭīb al‑Baghdādī, followed by all later biographers, declares
that Māwardī was appointed to many judgeships, but no one lists
them.35 There is nothing particularly surprising about this, for we
28
29
30
31
On whom v. Subkī, Ṭabaqāt 3 : 271–274 (who surmises that he learnt jurisprudence
from the same shaykhs as Ibn Surayj and also sat before Ibn Surayj himself, 273).
32
Al‑Isnawī, Ṭabaqāt al‑shāfiʿīyah, ed. ʿAbd Allāh al‑Jābūrī, Iḥyāʾ al‑Turāth
al‑Islāmī, 2 vols. (Baghdad: Riʾāsat Dīwān al‑Awqāf, 1390–1391/1970–1971), 1 : 193.
33
For that sequence, v. Makdisi, Ibn ʿAqīl 194–219.
34
Al‑Nawawī, al‑Majmūʿ, ed. Zakarīyāʾ ʿAlī Yūsuf, 18 vols., (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat
al‑ʿĀṣimah or Maṭbaʿat al‑Imām, 1966–1969). Vols. 1–9 are by al‑Nawawī, the rest
by various continuators. I have counted citations in the first three volumes.
35
Al‑Khaṭīb al‑Baghdādī, Tārīkh 12 : 102 13 : 587.
usually lack information concerning qadis outside the major centres.36

He probably had deputies do most of the actual work.
Māwardī was close to some of the Būyid warlords who controlled
Iraq and Iran, especially earlier in his career. He sometimes negotiated
on their behalf with their neighbours. Better known is his involvement
in negotiations with the Būyids on behalf of two caliphs, al‑Qādir (r.
381–422/991–1031) and al‑Qāʾim (r. 422–467/1031–1074). He once
headed a diplomatic mission from the caliph to the Būyids’ rivals, the
Selchūqids.37 In 429/1037–1038, al‑Qāʾim named him aqḍá al‑quḍāh,
literally “the most decisive of the judges.” Some contemporary ju-
risprudents objected, such as Abū al‑Ṭayyib al‑Ṭabarī of the Shāfiʿi
school and al‑Ṣaymarī (d. 436/1045) of the Ḥanafi, but they were
ignored.38 In Ramadan of the same year (June-July 1038), al‑Qāʾim
promoted Jalāl al‑Dawlah from amīr al‑umarāʾ, “commander of
commanders”, to malik al‑mulūk, “king of kings.”39 Abū al‑Ṭayyib
al‑Ṭabarī, al‑Ṣaymarī the Ḥanafi, and a certain Tamīmī of the Ḥanbali
school issued opinions in favour of the new title, arguing that it was
intended to refer only to earthly kings (that is, did not slight God
al‑malik).40 Reports differ as to what Māwardī said: that he argued
similarly to Abū al‑Ṭayyib al‑Ṭabarī and that he denounced the title
36
V. Heinz Halm, Die Ausbreitung der šāfiʿitischen Rechtsschule, Beihefte zum
tübinger Atlas des vorderen Orients, B (Geisteswissenschaften), 4 (Wiesbaden:
Ludwig Reichert, 1974), 12–14, for the Shāfiʿi school in particular.
37
For Māwardī’s career, v. above all Laoust, “Pensée”.
38
Yāqūt, Irshād, ed. Margoliouth, 5 : 407; ed. ʿAbbās, 5 : 1955.
39
For Jalāl al‑Dawlah’s long struggle for supremacy, v. Laoust, “Pensée”, 73–79.
40
Al‑Ṣaymarī is particularly important to modern scholarship on account of his
biography of Abū Ḥanīfah and his leading followers. For biographies, v. Dhahabī,
Siyar 17 : 615–616. The Ḥanbali, Tamīmī, is more obscure. My guess is that it was
Abū ʿAlī ibn al‑Mudhhib (d. 444/1052), on whom v. al‑Khaṭīb al‑Baghdādī, Tārīkh
7 : 390–392 8 : 393–395, but Laoust (“Pensée”, 80) thinks it was rather Abū Muḥammad
al‑Tamīmī (d. 488/1095–1096), on whom v. Ibn Abī Yaʿlá, Ṭabaqāt al‑ḥanābilah, ed.
Muḥammad Ḥāmid al‑Fiqī, 2 vols. (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al‑Sunnah al‑Muḥammadīyah,
1371/1952), 2 : 250–251; likewise Glassen, Mittlere Weg, 12, but she has misinter
preted the passage cited in Ibn al‑Jawzī, al‑Muntaẓam, actually s.a. 442, in which
this Tamīmī prayed over Abū al‑Ḥasan al‑Qazwīnī, not the caliph al‑Qādir.
as impious, for which he feared to be punished but ended up being

complimented by Jalāl al‑Dawlah.41
Caliphal interest in Māwardī works is indicated especially by
the commissioning from him of an epitome of Shāfiʿi law. Yāqūt
mentions that the caliph al‑Qādir requested exposés of the particular
ordinances of each of what shortly became the four Sunni schools of
law. Māwardī wrote al‑Iqnāʿ. The famous Mukhtaṣar of al‑Qudūrī
(d. 428/1037) is its Ḥanafi counterpart, while ʿAbd al‑Wahhāb
al‑Thaʿlabī (d. 422/1031) prepared an epitome of Māliki law.42
Yāqūt states that he does not know who wrote an epitome of Ḥanbali
law on this occasion. One likely candidate would be Ibn Ḥāmid (d.
403/1012–1013), chief of the Ḥanbali school in Baghdad and close
to the caliph al‑Qādir. More likely, though, a Ḥanbali epitome came
from the successor Ibn Ḥāmid himself designated, Abū Yaʿlá, prob-
ably al‑Mujarrad, no longer extant but named among his books by
biographers and important in the later Ḥanbali school. The system of
four mutually respectful Sunni schools of law goes back to about the
turn of the eleventh century. Yaʿakov Meron has asserted that it was
the rise of uṣūl al‑fiqh, resolutely probabilistic, that persuaded Muslim
jurisprudents from then on to renounce the search for the one correct
answer to every question, which is to say to prove that every other
school was wrong.43 This caliphal commissioning of parallel books
from four schools presumably had something to do with the predict-
41
Ibn al‑Jawzī, al‑Muntaẓam, 6 vols. (Hyderabad: Dāʾirat al‑Maʿārif al‑ʿUthmānīyah,
1357–1360), 8 : 97–98; ed. Muḥammad ʿAbd al‑Qādir ʿAṭā and Muṣṭafá ʿAbd al‑Qādir
ʿAṭā, with Nuʿaym Zurzūr, 18 vols. (Beirut: Dār al‑Kutub al‑ʿIlmīyah, 1412/1992),
15 : 264–265; Laoust, “Pensée”, 79–80.
42
Al‑Māwardī, al‑Iqnāʿ fī al‑fiqh al‑shāfiʿī, ed. Khiḍr Muḥammad Khiḍr (Kuwait:
Maktabat Dār al‑ʿUrūbah, 1402/1982). For the story of the commissioning, v. Yāqūt,
Irshād, ed. Margoliouth, 5 : 408; ed. ʿAbbās, 5 : 1956. Yāqūt names the Māliki qadi
“ʿAbd al‑Wahhāb ibn Muḥammad ibn Naṣr”, but other sources make him the son of
ʿAlī; e.g. al‑Khaṭīb al‑Baghdādī, Tārīkh 11 : 31–32 12 : 292; Abū Isḥāq al‑Shīrāzī,
Ṭabaqāt al‑fuqahāʾ, ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās (Beirut: Dār al‑Rāʾid al‑ʿArabī, 1970), 168–169;
al‑Qāḍī ʿIyāḍ, Tartīb al‑madārik, ed. Muḥammad ibn Tāwīt al‑Ṭanjī and Saʿīd Aḥmad
Aʿrāb, 8 vols. (Rabat and elsewhere: Maṭbaʿat Faḍālah and others, 1966–1983),
7 : 220–221. On Ibn Ḥāmid and al‑Qādir, v. Ibn Abī Yaʿlá, Ṭabaqāt 2 : 177.
43
Yaʿakov Meron, L’obligation alimentaire entre époux en droit musulman hané-
fite, Bibliothèque de droi privé 114 (Paris: R. Pichon and R. Durand-Auzias, 1971).
ability of judicial rulings. A Shāfiʿi epitome would tell how a Shāfiʿi

qadi would rule, a Ḥanafi how a Ḥanafi, and so on. The issue was
certainly current, for Māwardī and Abū Yaʿlá both comment on the
problem of whether one may validly appoint a qadi and require him
to rule according to a particular school, his own or another.44 What-
ever its judicial connection, the commissioning sounds like another
decisive impulse toward mutual recognition and respect among the
Sunni schools. It also sounds like a signal rebuke from the caliph to
the Ẓāhiri school, still holding on at the time in Baghdad and Fars but
under Būyid patronage and replete with Muʿtazilah.
Māwardī often espouses Muʿtazili views. Pre-modern Muslim critics
pointed especially to some passages in his Qurʾan commentary, such
as rejection of predestination.45 Other examples can be found. One
is the capacity of reason to tell that an imam is necessary (on which
more below).46 Michael Cook has pointed out agreements between
Māwardī’s presentation of commanding the right and forbidding the
wrong (al-amr bi‑al‑maʿrūf wa‑al‑nahy ʿan al‑munkar) and that of
the Muʿtazili tradition.47 However, pre-modern critics exculpated
Māwardī of advocating Muʿtazili views systematically.48 (Lester Little
44
Māwardī, al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah, ed. ʿIṣām Fāris al‑Ḥarastānī and Muḥammad
Ibrāhīm al‑Zughlī (Beirut: al‑Maktab al‑Islāmī, 1416/1996), 111–113 – trans. Wahba,
75–77 (henceforward, citations of this translation in italics). Abū Yaʿlá, Aḥkām, 63–64.
45
e.g. Ibn al‑Ṣalaḥ, Ṭabaqāt al‑fuqahāʾ al‑shāfiʿīyah, ed. al‑Nawawī, al‑Mizzī, and
Muḥyī al‑Dīn ʿAlī Najīb, 2 vols. (Beirut: Dār al‑Bashāʾir al‑Islāmīyah, 1413/1992),
2 : 638–640, 642, followed by Subkī, Ṭabaqāt 5 : 270.
46
For Muʿtazili faith in reason to answer questions of right and wrong, v. George
F. Hourani, Reason and Tradition in Islamic Ethics (Cambridge: Univ. Press, 1985),
and A. Kevin Reinhart, Before Revelation: The Boundaries of Muslim Moral Thought,
SUNY Series in Middle Eastern Studies (Albany: State Univ. of New York Press, 1995).
47
Michael Cook, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought
(Cambridge: Univ. Press, 2000), 344, 401fn.
48
The final anecdote in Yāqūt’s biography makes the point that Māwardī’s own
ijtihād occasionally led him to agree with the Muʿtazilah: Irshād, ed. Margoliouth,
5 : 408–409; ed. ʿAbbās, 5 : 1956–1957. Besides agreement, Ibn al‑Ṣalaḥ also points
out an instance of disagreement with the Muʿtazilah, Ṭabaqāt, 642. Cf. al‑Dhahabī,
Mīzān al‑iʿtidāl, s.n. ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad ibn Ḥabīb, affirming that Māwardī’s own
reasoning (ijtihād) sometimes led him to agree with the Muʿtazilah on particular
doctrines without his becoming an adherent of their party in general.
detects rationalism in Māwardī’s continually presenting different

positions but refusing to choose among them.49 I am more inclined to
consider it an example of normal Islamic legal writing, which is often
indeterminate in detail. Abū Yaʿlá’s Aḥkām is equally indeterminate
when there is more than one version of Aḥmad’s doctrine to report.
Alternatively, it shows how Māwardī’s Aḥkām falls under the category
of ikhtilāf, a survey of the different schools’s positions, as opposed
to an exposition of his own Shāfiʿi school’s positions.) So far, no one
has uncovered evidence in his writing of Ashʿarism.50
In addition to Shāfiʿi law, Māwardī is known to have written about
the Qurʾan, Arabic grammar, personal ethics and deportment, political
theory, and administration. Most of his known works are extant, and
most of them draw heavily on the Persian and Hellenistic traditions.
Others, however, notably al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah, his qurʾanic com-
mentary al‑Nukat wa‑al‑ʿuyūn, and the monumental al‑Ḥāwī al‑kabīr
on Shāfiʿi law, hew strictly to the Arabo-Islamic tradition. I am inclined
to suppose that Māwardī put away the Persian and Hellenistic tradi-
tions as the Sunni revival progressed and he transferred his principal
loyalties from the Būyids to the caliph.
As for Māwardī’s personal character, we have just one report from
a close associate, who apparently taught law as his deputy (darrasa
makānah) for five years: “I never saw anyone more sedate than he.
I never heard from him any jest and I never saw his forearm from
the time I became close to him until he departed from this world.”51
Nothing indicates that he was a Sufi, but he admired renunciation.
In Adab al‑dunyā wa‑al‑dīn, he observes with pride that it was the
rule among Shāfiʿī’s followers that if someone willed a third of his
49
Little, “A New Look”, 10–11.
50
Cook has deliberately looked for it and found none: Commanding, 344, n. 41. For
some undemonstrated characterizations of Māwardī as an Ashʿari, v. H. A. R. Gibb,
“Some Considerations of the Sunni Theory of the Caliphate”, Studies, 141–150
(originally in Archives d’histoire du droit oriental 3 [1939]: 401–410), at 142, and
Riḍwān al‑Sayyid, introduction to Māwardī, Tasʾhīl al‑naẓar, ed. al‑Sayyid (Beirut:
al‑Markaz al‑Islāmī lil‑Buḥūth and Dār al‑ʿUlūm al‑ʿArabīyah, 1987; repr. n.d.), 31.
51
Yāqūt, Irshād, ed. Margoliouth, 5 : 408; ed. ʿAbbās, 5 : 1956.
property to aʿqal al‑nās, those best under the control of reason, it

would have to go to the renunciants (zuhhād).52
Abū Yaʿlá ibn al‑Farrāʾ

Abū Yaʿlá ibn al‑Farrāʾ, Muḥammad ibn al‑Ḥusayn, was the son
and grandson of jurisprudents, although his grandfather Muḥammad
(d. 390/999–1000) had adhered to the Ḥanafi school of law, being
a disciple to al‑Jaṣṣāṣ al‑Rāzī (d. 370/981), chief of the Ḥanafi school
in Baghdad in his day. (Brockelmann suggests that his ʿurf be Ibn
al‑Farrāʾ, but I refer to him rather as Abū Yaʿlá, first because this
is far more usual in Ḥanbali literature, secondly because modern
Arabophone scholarship sometimes makes him out to be simply
al‑Farrāʾ) His father had transferred to the Ḥanbali school under Ibn
Ḥāmid.53 He was born on 28 Muḥarram 380/27 April 990 and died
on 19 Ramaḍān 458/14 August 1066.54
Abū Yaʿlá’s principal teacher in law was Ibn Ḥāmid. Elsewhere,
I have counted references to earlier jurisprudents in a highly de-
tailed survey of disagreements within the Ḥanbali school, the Inṣāf
of al‑Mardāwī (d. Damascus, 885/1480).55 Abū Yaʿlá is there the
seventh most often-cited authority, the only one in the top twenty
who died in the eleventh century ce and second to only one earlier
authority, Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal himself. His students Abū al‑Khaṭṭāb
52
Māwardī, Adab al‑dunyā wa‑al‑dīn, ed. Muḥammad Karīm Rājiḥ (Beirut: Dār
Iqraʾ, 1401/1981), 19; ed. ʿAbd Allāh Aḥmad Abū Zīnah, 3 vols. (Cairo: Muʾassasat
Dār al‑Shaʿb, 1979–1980), 1 : 34.
53
For the Ḥanbali school in this period, v. Henri Laoust, “Le Hanbalisme sous
le califat de Bagdad (241/855–656/1258)”, Revue des études islamiques 27 (1959):
67–128. On Ibn Ḥāmid, v. Laoust, “Califat”, 93–94, to whose references add Dhahabī,
Siyar 17 : 203–204.
54
The principal pre-modern biography is Ibn Abī Yaʿlá, Ṭabaqāt 2 : 171–177. The
principal modern studies are Makdisi, Ibn ʿAqīl, 232–237, and Abū Fāris, al‑Qāḍī
Abū Yaʿlá.
55
Christopher Melchert, “Ibn Taymîyah and Ibn Qayyim al‑Jawzîyah and the
Ḥanbali School of Law”, forthcoming in a collection edited by Birgit Krawietz and
Georges Tamer; al‑Mardāwī, al‑Inṣāf fī maʿrifat al‑rājiḥ min al‑khilāf , ed. Muḥammad
Ḥāmid al‑Fiqī, 12 vols. (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al‑Sunnah al‑Muḥammadīyah, 1955–1958,
repr. with new pagination Beirut: Dār Iḥyāʾ al‑Turāth al‑ʿArabī, 1419/1998).
al‑Kalwadhānī (d. Baghdad, 510/1116) and Ibn ʿAqīl (d. Baghdad,

513/1119) come in eighth and fourteenth, respectively. His significance
for the Ḥanbali school seems to be even greater in uṣūl al‑fiqh than
in furūʿ, for there was virtually no tradition of writing uṣūl al‑fiqh
in the Ḥanbali school before him. From his time forward, there was
such a tradition. Somewhat like his younger contemporary al‑Bājī (d.
Almeria, 474/1081), who started the Māliki tradition of uṣūl al‑fiqh,
he seems to have derived his idea of how to write uṣūl from the Shāfiʿi
tradition rather than the Ḥanafi.56
In theology, Abū Yaʿlá composed refutations of the Ashʿarīyah,
Karāmīyah, Sālimīyah, incarnationists, and an Ibn al‑Labbān, mean-
ing probably ʿAbd Allāh ibn Muḥammad (d. Isfahan, 446/1054),
a Shāfiʿi in law but a disciple in theology to the leading Ashʿari Abū
Bakr al‑Bāqillānī (d. Baghdad, 403/1013).57 However, it appears
that further research is needed to determine Abū Yaʿlá’s theological
inclination, for despite reports of his refuting Ashʿarīyah, also of his
inserting occasional Ḥanbali positions into an essentially Muʿtazili
framework, some of his theological writings appear to advocate char-
acteristically Ashʿari positions.58 My guess is that, like Māwardī, he
was fundamentally eclectic but inclined towards Muʿtazilism more
than Ashʿarism.
As discussed above, Abū Yaʿlá may have written an epitome of
Ḥanbali law for the caliph al‑Qādir. He certainly came to that ca-
liph’s attention when he published his theological treatise Ibṭāl taʾwīl
al‑ṣifāt, which piled up hadith against non-literal interpretations of
56
On the Shāfiʿi and Ḥanafi traditions of uṣūl al‑fiqh, v. A. Kevin Reinhart, “«Like
the Difference Between Heaven and Earth:» Ḥanafī and Shāfiʿī Discussions of farḍ
and wājib in Theology and Uṣūl”, Studies in Islamic Legal Theory, ed. Bernard
Weiss, Islamic Law and Society 15 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 205–234, esp. 205–206.
57
Abū Yaʿlá’s works are listed by Ibn Abī Yaʿlá, Ṭabaqāt 2 : 205–206. On Ibn
al‑Labbān, v. Dhahabī, Siyar 17 : 653 with further references. A hostile source
reports that Abū Yaʿlá and another leading Ḥanbali read uṣūl for a time under Ibn
al‑Labbān’s direction: Ibn ʿAsākir, Tabyīn kadhib al‑muftarī (Damascus: Maṭbaʿat
al‑Tawfīq, 1347), 262.
58
On Muʿtazilism, v. Cook, Commanding, 130–138. For one essentially Ashʿari
position, v. Daniel Gimaret, “Théories de l’acte humain dans l’école Ḥanbalite”,
Revues d’études orientales 29 (1977): 157–178, at 161–165.
apparently anthropomorphic hadith. Against Ashʿari and Muʿtazili

practice, he called for relating such hadith reports just as they had
come without explanation.59 It pleased al‑Qādir but aroused violent
opposition, which the vizier Ibn al‑Maslamah intervened to quiet. The
caliph subsequently appointed Abū Yaʿlá qadi for the caliphal palace
and its quarters for women, also Ḥarrān and Ḥulwān in Mesopotamia
(modern northern Iraq).60
Like Māwardī, Abū Yaʿlá was involved in more than law. The list
of his works includes treatments of the Qurʾan, Arabic, theology, piety,
and history. A larger proportion of his works have been lost than of
Māwardī’s, but the list of titles surely indicates that he wrote always
within the Arabo-Islamic tradition without venturing into Persian and
Hellenistic wisdom.
Al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah
Māwardī’s Aḥkām and Abū Yaʿlá’s are so close that either one
must be a rewriting of the other or each must be a rewriting of some
unknown original. (I shall henceforth refer to Māwardī’s version as
MAS, Abū Yaʿlá’s as YAS.) They are very nearly the same length. The
significance of the parallel is twofold. first, of course, it would diminish
Māwardī’s modern reputation if Abū Yaʿlá turned out to have written
his version first, Māwardī on its pattern. Second, and regardless of
which came first, agreement between the two texts ought to show us
which ideas were widely held in eleventh-century Baghdad (at least
in the Sunni community), while disagreement shows us which ideas
were disputed.
To show how close the two versions are, here are some sample
parallels. This first concerns the removal of a caliph (MAS, 31 17
[but these are my own translations];YAS, 28):
59
Said to have been published as Abū Yaʿlá, Ibṭāl al‑taʾwīlāt li-akhbār al‑ṣifāt,
ed. Abū ʿAbd Allāh al‑Najdī (Kuweit: Dār Īlāf al‑Dawlah, 1410). Regrettably, I have
not seen this book myself.
60
Dhahabī, Siyar 18 : 90.
When the imam has undertaken [to When the imam has undertaken [to
satisfy] the claims (ḥuqūq) of the com- satisfy] the claims (ḥuqūq) of the community,
munity such as we have mentioned, he he has two claims on them: obedience and
renders the claim of God (be he exalted) aid, so long as there is not found on his
as to what is for and against them. He part what puts him out of the imamate.
has two claims on them: obedience and What puts him out of the imamate are
aid, so long as his state has not changed. two things: moral derangement (jarḥ fī
What makes his state change and puts ʿadālatih) and bodily weakness, which we
him out of the imamate are two things. have already explained. As for religious
One is some moral derangement (jarḥ fī derangement (al‑jarḥ fī dīnih), we have
ʿadālatih). The second is bodily weak- related the talk of Aḥmad (God–be he
ness. As for moral derangement, meaning exalted–have mercy on him) concerning
viciousness (fisq), it is of two kinds: one that, meaning what the soundness of the
is that he indulges desire, the second is imamate involves.
what depends on an ambiguity.
Māwardī explains shortly that “ambiguity” refers to heterodox

belief based on some ambiguity in Scripture. As often, Māwardī does
not here seem committed to any one school of law whereas Abū Yaʿlá
plainly writes as a Ḥanbali.
Here they are on the problem, mentioned above, of whether one
may require a qadi to rule according to a particular school (MAS 111
75; YAS, 63):
It is permissible for one who believes It is permissible for one who believes
in the doctrine of al‑Shāfiʿī (God have in the doctrine of Aḥmad to bestow the
mercy on him) to bestow the judgeship judgeship on one who believes in the
on one who believes in the doctrine of doctrine of al‑Shāfiʿī, for the qadi must
Abū Ḥanīfah, for the qadi may exercise exercise his judgement (ʿalá al-qāḍī an
his judgement (lil-qāḍī an yajtahida yajtahida bi‑raʾyih) in his decision. He
bi‑raʾyih) in his decision. He is not bound is not bound to follow, in his cases and
to follow, in his cases and rulings, one to rulings, one to whose school he adheres.
whose school he adheres.
In this instance, the legal discussion is almost identical with only the
names changed. Māwardī, as usual, has avoided mentioning Aḥmad.
Finally, here they are on the problem of what to do with conquered
territory (MAS 217 152; YAS, 146):
As for territories that the Muslims have As for territories that the Muslims
conquered, they fall into three divisions. have conquered, they fall into three divi-
The first is what has been taken by force sions. The first is what has been taken by
and violence, such that they have departed force and violence, such that they have
from it by death, capture, or evacuation. departed from it by death, capture, or
The jurisprudents have disagreed over the evacuation. Concerning it there are two
legal category to which it belongs after versions. One is that it becomes spoil
the Muslims’ conquering it. Al‑Shāfiʿī like chattel, to be divided amongst its
(God be pleased with him) taught that it spoilers unless they prefer to leave it, in
is spoil like chattel, to be divided amongst which case it becomes a trust (tūqafu)
its spoilers unless they prefer to leave it, for the benefit of the Muslims. Aḥmad’s
in which case it becomes a trust (tūqafu) (God, be he exalted, have mercy on him)
for the benefit of the Muslims. Mālik held exact words are “Every territory taken by
that it becomes a trust for the Muslims force belongs to whoever fought for it, as
at the time it is spoiled and that it is not with chattel: four shares are for whoever
permissible to divide it among the spoil- fought for it and one share for God and
ers. Abū Ḥanīfah held that the leader has his Messenger and those near and the
the choice whether to divide it among the orphans and poor, as with chattel.” This
spoilers, so that it becomes tithe land, to was transmitted by al‑Khallāl in al‑Amwāl.
return it to the protected people, or to make The second is that the leader has the choice
it a trust (yaqifahā) for all the Muslims. whether to divide it among the spoilers,
It becomes the House of Islam whether so that it becomes tithe land, to make it
the Muslims inhabit it or the polytheists a trust (yaqifahā) for all the Muslims.
are returned to it. It becomes the House of Islam whether
the Muslims inhabit it or the polytheists
are returned to it. Aḥmad’s exact words
concerning that are “The land, if it is taken
by force, belongs to whoever fought for
it unless the one who conquered it made
it a trust (waqafahā) for the Muslims, as
ʿUmar did to Lower Iraq and imposed on
it the kharāj.”
Abū Yaʿlá goes on to relate two other versions of what Aḥmad

said, both of them expressly attributed, and quotes the earlier Ḥanbali
Abū Bakr ibn ʿAbd al‑ʿAzīz, better known as Ghulām al‑Khallāl
(d. 363/974).61 In this passage, again, Abū Yaʿlá plainly writes as
a Ḥanbali, whereas Māwardī seems only weakly committed to the
Shāfiʿi school (he does put it first) and mainly concerned to present
the spectrum of non-Ḥanbali opinion.
61
On whom v. Laoust, “Califat”, 90.
The most striking difference between the two books is to me that

YAS reads as a conventional exposé of Ḥanbali law. Inasmuch as
MAS systematically surveys the positions of the three non-Ḥanbali
schools, it is unconventional. Presumably, this unconventionality has
not struck earlier writers first because they have not been specialists
in Islamic law, secondly because they have been looking not for law
but political theory. Māwardī also quotes poetry from time to time,
unlike Abū Yaʿlá, and retells stories from the lifetime of the Prophet
sometimes, it appears, in the spirit of adab, prizing miscellany and
out-of-the-way knowledge.
As for which work is earlier, Ibn Rajab (d. 795/1393) has been
noticed quoting Abū Yaʿlá as saying something “following Māwardī
(mutābaʿatan lil‑Māwardī)”; that is, acknowledging Māwardī’s
priority.62 Actually, though, mutābaʿah in hadith science indicates
corroboration, quoting somebody the same way from another source,
which does not imply priority one way or the other. Among modern
writers, Laoust and Little are neutral, merely calling for further, deeper
study. So is Muḥammad Ḥāmid al‑Fiqī, editor of YAS.
The fullest discussion of the question has been that of Abū Fāris.63
He observes that ʿAbd Allāh Muṣṭafá al‑Marāghī held that Abū Yaʿlá
must have written first, Ṣubḥī al‑Ṣāliḥ that Māwardī must have, al-
though tentatively and without presenting his evidence.64 Abū Fāris
himself thinks Māwardī wrote first. He interprets Māwardī’s intro-
duction to MAS as implying that it was commissioned by the caliph,
who he thinks must have been al‑Qādir, which means it was written
in 422/1031 or before, when Māwardī was mature but not Abū Yaʿlá
(522). Māwardī’s political involvements must have equipped him to
write such a book, and he wrote another called Qawānīn al‑wizārah
62
Ibn Rajab, al‑Istikhrāj li‑aḥkām al‑kharāj (Cairo: al‑Maṭbaʿah al‑Islāmīyah,
1932), 116, cited by Fuʾād ʿAbd al‑Munʿim, introduction to Māwardī (attrib.),
al‑Tuḥfah al‑mulūkīyah fî al‑ādāb al‑siyāsīyah (Alexandria: Muʾassasat Shabāb
al‑Jāmiʿah, 1978), 27.
63
Abū Fāris, al‑Qāḍī Abū Yaʿlá, esp. 499–540.
64
Abū Fārīs, al‑Qāḍī, 517, 520–521, citing ʿAbd Allāh Muṣṭafá al‑Marāghī,
al‑Fatḥ al‑mubīn fī ṭabaqāt al‑uṣūlīyīn, 3 vols. in 1 (Beirut: Muḥammad Amīn Damj
wa‑Shurakāʾuh, 1974), 1 : 253, and Ṣubḥī al‑Ṣāliḥ, al‑Nuẓum al‑islāmīyah (Beirut:
Dār al‑ʿIlm lil‑Malāyīn, 1965), 520–521.
(522–523). He disbelieves that the caliph would have benefitted from

an exposition of the rules of just one school, which is all the Abū Yaʿlá
furnishes (524). Finally, YAS continually says “It has been said” and
what follows is more or less exactly what MAS says (527–537).
I would argue rather for the priority of Abū Yaʿlá’s version. The
first reason is that Abū Yaʿlá states in his introduction that the basis
for al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah was his own earlier work, al‑Muʿtamad.
Māwardī states in his introduction that he thought to write a book for
the benefit of the subject, mainly the caliph, that he may know the
jurists’ doctrines (madhāhib al‑fuqahāʾ). If Abū Yaʿlá wrote first, it
is possible to believe both of these statements, whereas if he actually
wrote his book mainly on the basis of Māwardī’s, we must accuse
him of serious dissimulation. Abū Yaʿlá’s Muʿtamad is no longer
extant, but an abridgement by Abū Yaʿlá himself is extant and has
been published. It does include a substantial section on the imamate,
although its structure and wording are admittedly different from those
of al‑Aḥkām al‑sulṭānīyah.65
Secondly, I would point to al‑Qādir’s active endorsement of
a system of four Sunni schools, overlooked (to my knowledge) by all
previous writers on MAS. It seems doubtful whether he would have
welcomed an account of just three schools unless it complemented
an account he already had of the fourth. Thirdly, we know that the
renascent caliphate was particularly allied with the Ḥanābilah. The
Qādiri creed, publicly reaffirmed by al‑Qāʾim, sometimes endorses
not just Sunni but peculiarly Ḥanbali positions. For example, with
the Ḥanābilah, it states that one who willingly omits to pray thereby
becomes an apostate, liable to capital punishment. This is to disagree
with the Ḥanafīyah, who do not consider it a capital offence, and the
Mālikīyah and Shāfiʿīyah, who do call for capital punishment but
consider it a ḥadd penalty, the offender never ceasing to be a Muslim.66
65
Abū Yaʿlá, Kitāb al‑Muʿtamad fī uṣūl al‑dīn, ed. Wadi Z. Haddad, Recherches,
n.s., A. Langue arabe et pensée islamique, 8 (Beirut: Dar el‑Machreq, 1974), 222–255.
66
For the Qādiri creed, v. Ibn al‑Jawzī, Muntaẓam, s.a. 433; for the positions
of the different schools on tārik al‑ṣalāh, v. most conveniently Ibn Rushd, Bidāyat
al‑mujtahid wa‑nihāyat al‑muqtaṣid, k. al‑ṣalāh, al‑jumlah al‑ūlá, al‑masʾalah
al‑rābiʿah, also MAS, 339 241, and YAS, 261.
Contrary to what Abū Fāris thinks, it is thus easy to see why Abū Yaʿlá
should have written an account of the Ḥanbali law of governance for
al‑Qādir, who promulgated a specifically Ḥanbali creed, even more
for al‑Qāʾim, who publicly endorsed the same creed and was so well
impressed by Abū Yaʿlá’s Ibṭāl taʾwīl al‑ṣifāt. It is likewise easy to see
why either caliph might have actively solicited an account of Ḥanbali
law from Abū Yaʿlá. It is harder, again, to see why Māwardī should
have thought either caliph wanted an account of the three non-Ḥanbali
schools unless he already had one of the Ḥanbali.
The usual modern argument for Māwardī is that MAS is more
consistent with what else is known of his work. Abū Yaʿlá wrote no
other work treating the vizierate, for example, whereas Māwardī did.
To the contrary, however, one might argue that MAS is no closer to
the rest of Māwardī’s works than YAS is to the rest of Abū Yaʿlá’s,
for Māwardī’s other works on politics frequently draw on the Hel-
lenistic and imperial Persian traditions, whereas MAS is entirely
Arabo-Islamic. Māwardī periodically cites the opinions of anony-
mous ʿulamāʾ (scholars, especially jurisprudents) and mutakallimīn
(theologians) of Basra, suggesting that the Aḥkām is a relatively early
work, from when he was new to Baghdad. The earlier in life Māwardī
wrote his version, the more likely it is that his was first, since he was
born about 16 years before Abū Yaʿlá. On the other hand, contra Abū
Fāris, its stress on the caliph and his claims fits better the latter part
of Māwardī’s life, when he himself was close to the caliph and when
the caliph was reasserting his authority, especially to name deputies.
Its neglect of the Hellenistic and Persian traditions also fits better the
latter part of his life, when the Sunni reaction was more advanced.
I would follow Laoust in supposing that Māwardī wrote it between
437 and 450 (1045–1058).67
As for the crucial question of whether it was like Māwardī to ig-
nore the Ḥanbali school, comparison with al‑Ḥāwī al‑kabīr suggests
not, although I cannot say it does overwhelmingly. Admittedly, that
is, the Ḥāwī often does ignore Ḥanbali views. For example, MAS
states that it is recommended but not required to perform all five
67
Laoust, “Pensée”, 15.
daily ritual prayers in assembly according to all the jurisprudents

except Dāwūd (al‑Ẓāhirī, d. 270/884), who alone required them
unless there was some excuse (MAS, 158 112). YAS states that it is
recommended but not required to perform all five daily ritual prayers
in assembly according to many of the jurisprudents but required by
Aḥmad and Dāwūd (YAS, 94). In the Ḥāwī, Māwardī states that it is
recommended but not required to perform all five daily ritual prayers
in assembly according to all the jurisprudents except Dāwūd ibn ʿAlī,
the traditionists (aṣḥāb al‑ḥadīth), and the Meccan Follower ʿAṭāʾ
(d. 114/732–733?).68 Aḥmad is included here in the category of “the
traditionists”, but Māwardī does not expressly name him.
Elsewhere, Māwardī even more obviously omits to mention Ḥanbali
opinions. MAS explains that land taken by force is divided up among
its conquerors according to Shāfiʿī, like other booty; becomes waqf
for the Muslims according to Mālik; and may be divided or become
waqf at the discretion of the imām according to Abū Ḥanīfah (MAS,
217 152). YAS quotes two versions of what Aḥmad said, one in fa-
vour of division, the other in favour of waqf (YAS, 146–147). In the
Ḥāwī, Māwardī first gives the Shāfiʿī rule, that land taken by force
is divided up among its conquerors, then later states that it is divided
like other booty according to Shāfiʿī; becomes waqf for all the Mus-
lims according to Mālik and al‑Awzāʿī (d. 157/773–774?); and may
be divided or become waqf at the discretion of the imām according to
Abū Ḥanīfah.69 I have found that the Ḥāwī often provides more detail
in this way than MAS (e.g. the positions of ʿAṭā and Awzāʿī) while
still overlooking the Ḥanbali position, which confirms that MAS is
unusually focused on the three non-Ḥanbali schools, ignoring earlier,
non-affiliated jurisprudents.70 But it would admittedly be more con-
68
Māwardī, al‑Ḥāwī al‑kabīr, ed. Maḥmūd al‑Maṭrajī, & al., 24 vols. (Beirut:
Dār al‑Fikr, 1414/1994), 2 : 378; ed. ʿAlī Muḥammad Muʿawwaḍ and ʿĀdil Aḥmad
ʿAbd al‑Mawjūd, 20 vols. (Beirut: Dār al‑Kutub al‑ʿIlmīyah, 1414/1994), 2 : 297
(henceforward, citations of this edn. in italics).
69
Māwardī, Ḥāwī 18 : 240, 301 14 : 209, 260.
70
e.g. Māwardī, Ḥāwī 3 : 114 2 : 489–490, on the number of extra takbīrahs in the
two festival prayers (cf. MAS 165 117); Ḥāwī 4 : 161–162 3 : 188, on the zakāh owed
on chattel (cf. MAS 181 129); Ḥāwī 9 : 321–322 7 : 477–478, on the ownership of
venient for my argument if I found that the Ḥāwī regularly mentions

Ḥanbali positions where MAS overlooks them.
On the other hand, Māwardī certainly does mention Ḥanbali posi-
tions much more often in the Ḥāwī than in MAS. In a sample of 122
pages from MAS, here are the authorities most often cited:
Prophet 54 times.
Qurʾan 43 times.
Abū Ḥanīfah 38 times.
Companions 21 times.
Shāfiʿī 21 times.
Mālik 13 times.
Followers 12 times.
Aḥmad does not appear once in the sample. (In the whole of MAS,
to judge by Wahba’s index, he appears three times.) Here, by contrast,
are the authorities most often cited in a sample of 128 pages from
al‑Ḥāwī al‑kabīr:
Shāfiʿī 90 times.
Prophet 76 times.
Abū Ḥanīfah 33 times.
Qurʾan 29 times.
Companions 26 times.
Mālik 20 times.
Abū ʿAlī ibn Abī Hurayrah 8 times.
Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal 7 times.
In the sample, Aḥmad is named a little less often than one of Māwardī’s
Shāfiʿi forebears, only a little more often than several others: Abū Isḥāq
al‑Marwazī (five times), Ibn Surayj (five times), Muzanī (three times),
and others mentioned only once or twice. Still, he is not conspicuously
absent as in MAS. Moreover, the Ḥāwī is an expressly Shāfiʿi work,
a commentary on the Mukhtaṣar of al‑Muzanī presumably intended
first of all to train Shāfiʿi jurisprudents. This is why Māwardī names
Shāfiʿī almost three times as often in the Ḥāwī as in MAS. By contrast,
reclaimed land (cf. MAS, 294 208–209); Ḥāwī 18 : 345–346 14 : 299, on the amount
of the jizyah (cf. MAS, 229 160).
MAS is expressly about the doctrines of the jurisprudents in general

(madhāhib al‑fuqahāʾ), with Abū Ḥanīfah named considerably more
often than Shāfiʿī, which makes it all the harder to see why Ḥanbali
opinions should there be systematically overlooked, unless they had
already been expounded to the caliph in YAS.
Concerning politics, some specific disagreements can be found. For
example, Māwardī is neutral as to whether the necessity of the imamate
is known by reason or revelation (ʿaql, sharʿ), whereas Abū Yaʿlá is
certain that it comes by revelation (samʿ) alone, since reason cannot
determine whether something is required or merely allowable (MAS,
13 3; YAS, 19). It is easy to see why Abū Yaʿlá’s position might have
been preferable to the caliph. On the other hand, Māwardī emphatically
rejects the title khalīfat Allāh, adducing the overwhelming majority
of jurisprudents (jumhūr al‑ʿulamāʾ) who think it outrageous to call
oneself “the deputy of God”, whereas Abū Yaʿlá is neutral, merely
laying out the two opposing views (MAS, 28–29 15–16; YAS, 27).71
That Abū Yaʿlá should disagree with Māwardī on this point, despite
Māwardī’s talk of an overwhelming majority, probably indicates that
modern scholars have emphasized it too heavily. Again, one supposes
that the caliph would have preferred Abū Yaʿlá’s position.
However, the most significant difference between the MAS and
YAS for political theory seems to me to be what Little remarked 35
years ago, namely that Māwardī seems less reluctant than Abū Yaʿlá
to countenance the removal of a wicked caliph.72 Māwardī has a full
71
To the contrary, Māwardī quotes someone else (both Aristotle and Anūshirvān
are credited with the saying elsewhere in the tradition) as saying “The king is the
deputy of God in his country” without adverse comment in Tasʾhīl al‑naẓar wa‑taʿjīl
al‑ẓafar īî akhlāq al‑malik wa‑siyāsat al‑mulūk, ed. Muḥyī Hilāl al‑Sirḥān with
Ḥasan al‑Sāʿātī (Beirut: Dār al‑Nahḍah al‑ʿArabīyah, 1401/1981), 151; ed. Riḍwān
al‑Sayyid, 202; pointed out by Paul L. Heck, “Law in ʿAbbasid Political Thought”,
ʿAbbasid Studies, ed. James E. Montgomery, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 135
(Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 83–109, at 91, 95fn. V. esp. 87–94 for Heck’s discussion of
Māwardī, which unfortunately does not extend to MAS. I take it Māwardī’s willing-
ness in the Tasʾhīl to speak of the ruler as God’s deputy, unwillingness in the MAS,
shows mainly how incomplete, yet, was his integration of the Hellenistic wisdom
tradition with the Islamic. It also seems an additional reason to doubt whether MAS
was written early in Māwardī’s career.
72
Little, “A New Look”, 13–14.
section on removal, beginning with the declaration translated above.

He goes on to, for example, the caliph’s disqualifying himself by
giving himself over to gross carnal appetite such that he does what is
forbidden. According to some mutakallimīn (dialectical theologians),
he becomes caliph again as soon as he returns to uprightness without
needing any renewed investiture (MAS, 31–36 17–21). Māwardī’s
younger Shāfiʿi contemporary Imām al‑Ḥaramayn (d. 478/1085)
would suggest still more strongly that a warlord might legitimately
depose a caliph.73 Living in Khurasan, he presumably had more to
gain than Māwardī by flattering the Selchūqids and less to lose by
offending the caliph.
Abū Yaʿlá makes virtually the same declaration, as we have
seen. Instead of going on to a full explanation, though, he refers to
his previous discussion, which actually, in the main, treats what to
do if the caliph has been made prisoner by unbelievers or Muslim
rebels. He also states just after reviewing the requisite characters of
the imam that depravity (fisq) does not bar continuation in the imam-
ate, whether this be a matter of external actions, such as drinking
intoxicants, or erroneous belief, such as the doctrine that the Qurʾan
is create (YAS, 20).74 This reluctance to discuss removal is in line
with a long tradition of Ḥanbali quietism and loyalty to the reigning
caliph, as when Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal refused to join Aḥmad ibn Naṣr
al‑Khuzāʿī’s rebellion against al‑Wāthiq in 231/846.75 Considering
how close the caliphs al‑Qādir and al‑Qāʾim were to the Ḥanābilah
of Baghdad, Abū Yaʿlá’s version is also presumptively closer to the
caliph’s own thinking.
The theme of this colloquium is prosperity and stagnation. Māwardī
and Abū Yaʿlá are both examples of personal prosperity. Māwardī was
73
Wael B. Hallaq, “Caliphs, Jurists and the Saljūqs in the Political Thought of
Juwaynī”, Muslim World 74 (1984): 26–41.
74
V. also Abū Yaʿlá, Muʿtamad, 242–245, 249, where wickedness such as wrong-
ful expropriation of property and maltreatment of persons is emphatically rejected
as a justification for removing an imam.
75
On Aḥmad ibn Naṣr, v. EI2, s.v. “Miḥna”, by M. Hinds, to whose references
add Dhahabī, Siyar 11 : 166, with further references. On Ḥanbali quietism, v. Cook,
Commanding Right, chaps. 5, 6.
the provincial who met major success at the capital (like his Shāfiʿi
rival Abū al‑Ṭayyib al‑Ṭabarī). MAS directs the caliph’s attention to
the wider world, where Ḥanbalism is not established. Abū Yaʿlá’s
prosperity is that of the Baghdadi Ḥanbali school, loyally supporting
the caliph against the pretensions of warlords from the provinces and
elevated to special favour in return.
To my mind, the durability of Islamic law as taught by the four
Sunni schools represents prosperity, too, for the larger Sunni com-
munity. YAS and the rest of Abū Yaʿlá’s work effected the arrival of
the Ḥanbali school, recognized by the caliph and at last comparable
to the Ḥanafi, Māliki, and Shāfiʿi in having a comprehensive code
and a theory of how it was generated (that is, a Ḥanbali version of
uṣūl al‑fiqh). MAS, by insisting on three schools while ignoring al-
ternatives (e.g. Awzāʿī, Sufyān al‑Thawrī, and Abū Thawr), likewise
marks the triumph of the caliphal model of four Sunni schools. The
schools endured caliphal indifference in the early tenth century, ca-
liphal decline in the rest of the tenth, caliphal revival in the eleventh
and twelfth, then even the extinction of the caliphate at the Mongol
conquest. The system of revealed law, maintained by the schools, was
the principal institution holding together Islamic cities in the High
Middle Ages.76 Dynasties came and went, but society continued as
shaped by the law. The schools are much attenuated today, but no
alternative has come to take their place.
On the other hand, if the Sunni Revival prospered the schools of
law, it also apparently constricted the range of accepted cultural styles.
Māwardī’s turn from the Persian and Hellenistic wisdom literature
he had so often exploited in his earlier works is an example of this
constriction. That the most famous work of medieval political thought
should be not a treatise on the theory of government but a work of
law, reviewing the rules to be followed in various government bu-
reaux with practically no concern to expound either basic principles
or the possibility of new ways, is perhaps a sign that stagnation had
76
Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 3 vols. (Chicago: Univ. Press,
1973), 2 : 119. “The other two integrative institutions,” he goes on, “the waqf foun-
dations and the Ṣûfî ṭarîqahs, were themelves finally dependent on Shar‘î norms for
their social viability.”
already set in. Māwardī’s and Abū Yaʿlá’s defence is that, after all, it
was not until early modern times that anyone thought of stagnation
as anything but the preferable alternative to degeneration and decline.
A work laying down the customary rules was just the thing to delay
unwelcome change.
Raif Georges Khoury
Université de Heidelberg
L’Avènement des Abbasides et son

importance pour le développent de
l’écriture en Islam
I. En guise d’introduction
Il est important de se poser la question du développement de la
culture islamique, dans ses premières décennies, de savoir comment
le passage de l’oralité à l’écrit s’est effectué et quelles en ont été
les causes essentielles de ce phénomène. Pour les besoins de cette
communication, il me semble nécessaire de tenir compte de toutes
les vieilles sources littéraires disponibles, surtout sur papyrus, et de
leur ajouter non seulement toutes sortes de documents anciens, mais
aussi des textes corollaires qui sont du même genre et qui ont conservé
beaucoup de côtés originaux des premiers savants islamiques.
Pour commencer il faut noter que nous disposons de beaucoup de
livres sur l’écriture, les bibliothèques islamiques, à partir du IIIe/IXe
siècle, et de leurs fonds, mais nous n’avons par contre aucun travail
essentiel sur les débuts de l’Islam et les grands centres de conserva-
tion des manuscrits dans les deux premiers siècles de l’Hégire.1 Et
1
Concernant les bibliothèques en général, voir surtout, Youssef Eche, Les bi-
bliothèques arabes publiques et semipubliques en Mésopotamie, en Syrie et en Egypte
au Moyen Age, Damas (Publ. Institut Français de Damas) 1967, et en langue arabe,
al-Sayyid al-Sayyid al-Nashshār, Tārīkh al-maktabāt fī Maṣr – al-ʿaṣr al-mamlūkī,
Le Caire 1413/1993 ; Shaʿbān ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz Khalīfa, Madjmūʿat al-bibliudjrāfiyya
64 Raif Georges Khoury
pourtant on ne peut négliger le développement dans ce domaine qui

a conduit aux grandes institutions de toutes sortes dans les siècles
postérieurs, qui ont emmagasiné des stocks énormes de livres au
nombre tellement élevé, mais qui ont fini par être dispersés, détruits
dans la majorité de leurs originaux, de sorte qu’il ne nous reste pour
l’étude de ces temps reculés que des copies de copies, avec un rien
comme originaux. Heureusement que les papyrus sont là en masse
sous forme de documents de toutes sortes et qui ont de quoi sauver un
peu la face, pour nous aider à décrire la situation concernant d’autres
écrits et fournir ainsi des renseignements plus précis sur un certain
développement de l’activité scripturaire dans les premières généra-
tions islamiques. Et, pour entreprendre une telle tâche, nous avons
des éléments assez importants, qui, il est vrai, à eux seuls ne peuvent
naturellement pas suffire pour élucider l’ensemble des problèmes qui
se posent à la recherche dans la reconstruction de toute la production
de ces temps reculés de l’histoire culturelle de l’Islam. Néanmoins,
ils forment des jalons qui peuvent aider à nous faire une image de
ce qu’a pu être le chemin suivi par ce passé, et ainsi servir de base
pour d’autres orientations utiles dans ce domaine, surtout concernant
l’authenticité dans la transmission de textes culturels en général, dans
lesquels l’idéologie partisane ne joue pas de rôle. Et les éléments dont
il est question ici sont assez nombreux, pour qu’on puisse les prendre
au sérieux, surtout qu’ils sont formés de documents sur papyrus de
toutes sortes, authentiques et assez souvent datés ou datables, et dans
leur écrasante majorité en provenance d’Egypte, pays du papyrus.
Un moyen très efficace dans la reconstruction de cette production
archaïque est bien sûr de se baser sur les grandes personnalités des-
quelles une telle activité est connue, de voir comment on peut utiliser
les données sur papyrus, qui se rapportent à elles : le rayonnement de
ces savants comme chefs d’écoles, à l’intérieur de cercles familiaux
ou dans les mosquées, pour suivre enfin la transmission de leurs écrits,
et voir comment les problèmes peuvent se présenter chez d’autres,
contemporains ou postérieurs à eux dans les différentes provinces
al-tārīkhiyya, 2e vol. : al-Kutub wa-l-maktabāt fī l-ʿuṣūr al-wusṭā – al-Sharq al-

muslim…, Le Caire 1997, etc.
L’Avènement des Abbasides et son importance pour le développent de l’écriture en Islam 65
islamiques. Il est clair que l’Islam, partout où il s’implantait, s’orga-

nisait autour de son livre sacré et des sciences qui s’y rapportaient.
Dans cette première manifestation scientifique en Islam, la mosquée
a sans doute joué un rôle particulièrement important, car là d’abord
un enseignement régulier, systématique a pu s’effectuer, et surtout
se développer en activité scientifique écrite intense.2 Néanmoins,
nous n’avons rien pour documenter la valeur et l’étendue réelles des
premiers essais de mise par écrit, des premières écoles en période
islamique, si l’on ne veut pas rester dans le vague, les généralités
qui attribuent à chaque personnalité de valeur des débuts de l’Islam
culturel un nombre plus ou moins détaillé et grand de livres ; même si
une part de ces données va dans le chemin imaginable, celles-ci restent
cependant sans fondement solide et crédible, pour attester la justesse
de données postérieures, qui se réfèrent à des activités scripturaires
intenses, concernant ces périodes reculées.
C’est pourquoi il est utile de tenir compte, à côté de cela, des
informations attestées par des documents se rapportant à des cercles
privés, dans des maisons d’intellectuels, tournées vites en centres
de codification et de transmission, dont le fruit nous est plus connu,
au moins en partie. C’est ainsi que l’on voit comment des chefs de
familles, par exemple des juges ou des intellectuels jurisconsultes ou
autres, parfois dotés d’une richesse assez considérable, voire fabuleuse,
rassemblaient autour d’eux des hommes de niveaux scientifiques
variés, pour s’adonner, dans le cadre de séances familiales et privées,
à la transmission de ce que représentait le savoir ou un certain savoir
dans leurs provinces.3 Il ne faut point négliger de souligner spécia-
lement que les assemblées d’intellectuels, d’hommes de sciences,
2
Concernant la mosquée et son importance à cet égard, voir : ʿAbd al-Ḥalīm
Maḥmūd, al-Masdjid, Le Caire 1976, 23 sqq. ; D. Brandenburg, Die Madrasa, Graz
1978, 1 sqq. ; de plus, EI2, V, 1123 sqq., l’article de George Makdisi, et de lui aussi,
The Rise of Colleges. Institutions of learning in Islam and the West. Edinburgh
1981, 5 ff./sqq., etc.
3
Concernant ce genre de séances postérieures, voir par exemple : G. Vajda, Les
certificats de lecture et de transmission dans les manuscrits arabes de la Bibliothèque
Nationale de Paris, Paris 1956 ; R. Sellheim, Gelehrte und Gelehrsamkeit im Reiche
der Chalifen, Festschrift für Paul Kirn, Belin 1962, 54–79 (trad. Arabe : ʿAṭiyya
Rizḳ. Al-ʿIlm wa-l-ʿulamāʾ fī ʿuṣūr al-khulafāʾ, Beyrouth 1972) ; ʿAlī Muḥammad
surtout sous le patronage de califes, et assez tôt comme on le verra

par la suite, mais aussi de mécènes de toutes sortes, ont contribué de
manière extraordinaire à la transmission du savoir d’abord, et ensuite
à sa fixation progressive par écrit, et ceci bien avant la création de
centres bibliothécaires officiels dignes de ce nom, sous les dynasties
postérieures, surtout abbaside à Bagdad, et omeyyade en Espagne.4
Comment alors se présentent d’abord les informations, conservées
chez des auteurs classiques des générations postérieures, qui nous
renvoient aux premiers temps de l’Islam? Il faut avouer que rien en
général, parmi les écrits qu’on leur attribue, n’a survécu sous forme
originale, indépendante. Il s’agit là sans doute d’un problème majeur,
délicat, même très grave, et pourtant pas insurmontable, surtout si nous
pouvons attester d’une manière solide que l’activité scientifique a bel
et bien eu lieu, et qu’elle n’est pas une pure fiction ou une création
de la pure sympathie ou de l’hagiographie. Touchant les domaines,
auxquels se rapportent mes travaux, on peut affirmer cette dernière
idée de plus en plus fermement, comme on le verra plus clairement
par la suite. Il est clair aussi que rien ne peut naître ex nihilo, sans
évolution préalable, sans « balbutiements » aussi. Dans ce processus de
transmission des textes le problème de l’interdépendance des sources,
entre les écrivains arabes, justement de la période classique, apparaît
comme central, car il nous aide à établir jusqu’à l’évidence le cadre
général concernant la question des sources, qui sont à l’origine d’une
bonne partie des textes postérieurs. Déjà Zakī Mubārak avait attiré
l’attention sur cet aspect extrêmement important de l’évolution de la
culture arabe archaïque. Dans un livre important,5 qui présente à ce
sujet plus d’une idée intéressante, l’auteur a eu le courage de prendre
position, et déjà à une date assez reculée (1931), contre une foule
d’opinions courantes, soutenues alors et qui ont encore, malheureu-
sement, jusqu’à aujourd’hui des partisans, pour défendre cette thèse
discutée ici et devenue de plus en plus évidente. Le sens de ses mots
paraît revêtir une importance spéciale, considéré à la lumière de ce
Hāshim, al-Andiya al-adabiyya fī l-ʿaṣr al-ʿabbāsī fī l-ʿIrāq ḥattā nihāyat al-qarn
al-thālith al-hidjrī, Beyrouth 1982, etc.
4
Sur les bibliothèques en général, voir plus haut le livre de Y. Eche.
5
Zakī Mubārak, La prose arabe au IVe siècle de l’Hégire, Paris 1931.
qui a été dit sur l’interdépendance des textes. Pour lui, par exemple,
ce n’est pas Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ qui est le premier prosateur qui « ait
enrichi la langue arabe ». Le premier chef-d’œuvre en prose est plu-
tôt le Coran. Or Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ « appartient au commencement du
deuxième siècle.6 Comment croire, ajoute-t-il, que durant ce long laps
de temps, depuis l’apparition du Livre, on n’ait rien produit ? Le fait
que le Coran est un ouvrage religieux n’empêche pas de le considérer
aussi comme une œuvre littéraire, car c’est bien le rôle des lettres
d’être toujours le reflet des mœurs et des croyances ».7
Les découvertes des papyrus arabes anciens, non seulement dans
le domaine des documents proprement dit, mais aussi dans les do-
maines historiques et administratifs, peuvent être invoquées comme
le meilleur témoignage d’une certaine activité littéraire, déjà dans
le siècle du prophète Mahomet. En somme, la thèse de Mubārak
formulée ci-dessus ne peut plus paraître si exagérée, comme on le
pensait au début, même encore dans les années soixante du siècle
dernier ; et elle mérite qu’on s’y penche avec beaucoup d’attention
et de confiance aussi. Ce qu’il écrivait, à propos du Coran, a de quoi
faire sérieusement réfléchir :
« L’apparition d’une œuvre aussi subtile, aussi pure de forme
que le Coran ne prouve-t-elle pas jusqu’à l’évidence que sa langue
a depuis longtemps dépassé l’âge des balbutiements ? Ne faut-il pas
croire aussi que lorsqu’une langue est forte, riche, en pleine posses-
sion de ses moyens, elle suscite forcément l’étude des rhéteurs et
des grammairiens, et qu’elle compte, dès lors, non seulement des
poètes et des orateurs, mais aussi des critiques pour analyser dans
leur faiblesse ou leur puissance, dans leur clarté ou leur obscurité,
les différents styles ?».8
Et il ajoute un peu plus loin :
« Le Coran, dans son éloquence et sa subtilité, s’adressait sans
doute possible à des hommes capables de le comprendre et de le goûter.
6
Il sʾagit du IIe H./VIIe J. C.
7
Ibid., 49–50.
8
Ibid., 55.
Or, une telle culture, quand elle est assez répandue, ne saurait être le
fruit du hasard, ni exister sans éducation préalable ».9
Nous savons clairement que les œuvres des écrivains du IIe/VIIIe
siècle, et à plus forte raison celles du IIIe/IXe, ne sont pas nées de
rien ; car les productions majeures de l’époque abbaside ne sont pas
concevables sans les écrits qui les ont précédées et leur ont ouvert
la voie. Ceci est indéniable dans toutes les littératures mondiales, et
donc aussi dans la culture arabo-islamique. Et il est très heureux de
constater que les spécialistes des études arabes et islamiques pren-
nent de plus en plus conscience des périodes archaïques de cette
discipline, et de l’apport très considérable des deux premiers siècles
dans la fécondation des œuvres postérieures. Ainsi l’on assiste à un
véritable processus d’ascension, de gonflement des sources premières,
archaïques, qui nous ramène, considéré en sens inverse, aux premières
générations. Du moins il nous permet de conclure à l’existence d’une
activité écrite, même si l’on ne peut pas saisir celle-ci, la cerner de
près et la définir exactement, vu la non-survie de sources originales
des premiers auteurs eux-mêmes, à part le Coran et quelques spéci-
mens anciens rares sur papyrus ou sur d’autres matériaux d’écriture.
II. Le sens flexible du mot kitāb (livre)

Les mots de Mubārak ne devraient cependant pas pousser à outrer
les dimensions accordées aux écrits du deuxième siècle, et à plus forte
raison à ceux du premier, car, si l’on analyse le peu d’entre eux qui
ont survécu sous forme de livres, on se rend compte qu’ils ne sont
pas volumineux, et qu’ils peuvent, à cause de cela, servir comme
base pour l’évaluation des autres que les temps ou les hommes ont
détruits. C’est là que le sens très flexible du mot Kitāb (Livre)10 entre
en jeu, du fait que ce mot signifie ce qui est écrit, allant donc du sens
de quelques mots,11 en passant par celui d’un billet, d’un document,
9
Ibid., 59.
10
Là-dessus, voir : R. Sellheim, EI2, V, 204 ff./sqq.
11
Voir par exemple la petite phrase que le prophète Daniel a dû expliquer à Na-
buchodonosor, R. G. Khoury, Les légendes prophétiques dans l’Islam depuis le Ier-IIIe
siècle de l’Hégire, Wiesbaden 1978, 80, et texte arabe, 281, 13.
d’une lettre proprement dite,12 d’un chapitre, comme c’est le cas par
exemple dans Kitāb al-zuhd d’Asad Ibn Mūsā (132–212/750–827),
où le mot est placé en tête d’un chapitre, comme synonyme de bāb
ou djuzʾ,13 pour culminer dans celui donné au Livre Sacré ou Coran.
Et il est facile de trouver d’autres exemples, à côté de ceux cités ici
dans les notes. Les beaux et simples vers du poète omeyyade ʿUmar
Ibn Abī Rabīʿa (23–93/644–712) nous montre jusqu’à l’évidence
comment la culture à ses débuts croissait sans cesse, pour gagner des
cercles de plus en plus nombreux d’hommes de science, qui pouvaient
profiter de ce qui se développait comme facilités multiples, avec la
croissance, le développement politique, religieux et géographique
de tout l’Empire Islamique, en général. C’est ainsi que tout concourt
à développer les liens entre la capitale et les provinces, entre les
hommes au pouvoir et de pouvoir, entre les savants et les hommes
d’affaires de toutes sortes. A la réalisation de ces facilités ont grande-
ment contribué l’introduction de moyens de communications de plus
en plus perfectionnés d’une part, d’autre part la diffusion du papier qui
se répandait de plus en plus dès le IIIe/IXe siècle, sans pourtant arriver
à mettre de côté le papyrus, qui resta dans les trois premiers siècles
le matériel d’écriture de la masse des écrits, comme nous le montrent
les documents anciens, que l’Egypte, son pays, nous a conservés.14
12
Un exemple typique ancien peut être découvert dans les lettres administratives
de Qurra Ibn Sharīk, publiées par C. H. Becker à Heidelberg en 1906, et certaines
autres après lui par N. Abbott, A. Grohmann, Y. Ragheb ou W. Diem, dont on trouve
une liste bibliographique se rapportant à tous ces auteurs, dans ma Chrestomathie
de papyrologie arabe… (Handbuch der Orientalistik), Leiden 1993, 172 sqq. ;
néanmoins il est bon de renvoyer à un petit poème du poète ʿUmar Ibn Abī Rabīʿa,
parce qu’il apporte un témoignage éclatant de la diffusion des lettres en son temps,
Dīwān, Beyrouth 1966, 114 :
Kitāb
Katabtu ilayki min baladī kitāba muwallahin kamidi
Concernant le poème, v. plus loin la fin de IV.
13
Voir R. G. Khoury, Asad Ibn Mūsā: Kitāb az-zuhd. Nouvelle édition revue,
corrigée et augmentée de tous les certificats de lecture, avec une étude sur l’auteur,
Wiesbaden, 1976, 39 ff./sqq.
14
Là-dessus, voir R. G. Khoury, EI2, VIII, etc.
III. Al-Dhahabī (673/674–748/1274–1348) et l’an

143/760–761
C’est ainsi que l’on peut prendre la deuxième moitié du IIe/VIIIe
siècle comme point de départ, pour une activité scientifique, qui va
crescendo dans tous les sens possibles à l’époque, et bien sûr dans le
sens qui nous intéresse ici. L’expérience des spécialistes musulmans
classiques de leur histoire, concernant la transmission du savoir en
Islam, corrobore ces données, d’autant plus que nous avons quelques
spécimens d’écrits sur papyrus ou formant des versions issues de
ceux-ci, qui, à leur tour, confirment le sens général de ces données.
Nous allons tâcher de développer ces idées, d’abord à l’aide d’un
passage d’al-Dhahabī, important, même très important, auquel suivra
une présentation des écrits anciens dont nous disposons, et auxquels
on rattachera deux anciens fragments des Mille et Nuits, déjà publiés
par Nabia Abbott.
Le passage d’al-Dhahabī nous a été conservé, entre autres par Ibn
Taghrībirdī, qui le cite concernant l’an 143/760–761 :
« Qāla l-Dhahabī wa-fī hādha l-ʿaṣri sharaʿa ʿulamāʾu l-Islāmi fī
tadwīni l-ḥadīthi wa-l-fiqhi wa-l-tafsīri wa-ṣannafa Ibn Djuraydj al-
taṣānīfa bi-Makkata wa-ṣannafa Saʿīd Ibn Abī ʿArūba wa-Ḥammād Ibn
Salama wa-ghayruhum bi-l-Baṣrati wa-ṣannafa Abu Ḥanīfa al-fiqha
wa-l-raʾya bi-l-Kūfati wa-ṣannafa l-Auzāʿī bi-l-Shāmi wa-ṣannafa
Mālik al-Muwaṭṭaʾa bi-l-Madīnati wa-ṣannafa Ibn Isḥāq al-Maghāziya
wa-ṣannafa Maʿmar bi-l-Yamani wa-ṣannafa Sufyān al-Thaurī Kitāba
l-Djāmiʿi thumma baʿda yasīrin ṣannafa Hishām kutubahu wa-ṣannafa
al-Layth Ibn Saʿd wa-ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa thumma Ibn al-Mubārak
wa-l-Qadī Abū Yūsuf Yaʿqūb wa-Ibn Wahb wa-kathura tabwību l-ʿilmi
wa-tadwīnuhu wa-rabat wa-duwwinat kutubu l-ʿarabiyyati wa-l-lu-
ghati wa-l-tārīkhi wa-ayyāmi l-nāsi wa-qabla hādhā l-ʿasri kāna sāyiri
(sāʾiru) l-ʿulamāʾi yatakallamūna ʿan ḥifzihim wa-yarwūna l-ʿilma ʿan
ṣuḥufin ṣaḥiḥatin ghayri murattabatin fa-suhhila wa-li-l-llāhi l-ḥamdu
tanāwulu l-ʿilmi fa-akhadha l-ḥifzu yatanāqaṣu ».
« Al-Dhahabī dit : à cette époque les savants islamiques commen-
cèrent à mettre la tadition, le droit islamique et l’exégèse par écrit ;
Ibn Djuraydj classa les œuvres à la Mecque, Saʿīd Ibn Abī ʿArūba
et Ḥammād Ibn Salama et d’autres à Basra, Abū Ḥanīfa le fiqh et le
raʾy à Kufa, al-Auzāʿī à Damas, Mālik al-Muwaṭṭaʾ à Médine, Ibn
Isḥāq les Maghāzī, Maʿmar au Yémen, Sufyān al-Thaurī le livre al-
Djāmiʿ, puis peu après Hishām ses livres, et puis al-Layth Ibn Saʿd,
ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa, Ibn al-Mubārak, le juge Abū Yūsuf Yaʿqūb
et Ibn Wahb. La classification et la mise par écrit de la science ne
cessèrent d’augmenter : les livres sur l’arabe, la langue, l’histoire et
les chroniques furent fixés par écrit, alors qu’avant cette période tous
les savants parlaient de mémoire et transmettaient la science à partir
de feuilles authentiques (mais) non ordonnées ; ainsi fut simplifiée,
Dieu merci, la transmission de la science, de telle manière que la
transmission orale se mit à diminuer ».15
Un texte admirable qui me semble très clair, surtout si l’on tient
compte des données scripturaires que nous avons en main. Il est
naturel qu’on puisse l’étudier de différentes manières, chacun selon
son point de vue ou l’intérêt scientifique de ses propres travaux ;
il est cependant intéressant de noter qu’il a été cité et commenté
plusieurs fois les dernières années : d’abord par al-Djābirī,16 et puis
par Óarābīshī qui a repris ce passage, en critiquant et corrigeant le
premier.17 Mes commentaires,18 qui ne sont pas éloignés de ceux de
Óarābīshī, apportent néanmoins une explication soutenue par les
manuscrits anciens sur papyrus, et qui se rapportent aux égyptiens
parmi les hommes de science cités là. Si j’insiste donc sur ce qu’Ibn
15
Voir R. G. Khoury, ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa : juge et grand maître de l’Ecole
Egyptienne, avec éd. Critique de l’unique rouleau de papyrus arabe conservé à Hei-
delberg, Wiesbaden, 1986, 31 f./sq. où ce passage avait été déjà présenté et traduit
par moi, pour la première fois ; je l’ai repris plusieurs fois plus tard.
16
Al-Djābirī, Takwīn al-ʿaql al-ʿarabī, Beyrouth 1984, 61 sqq., livre qui ne
m’était pas disponible à l’époque, d’autant plus que mon livre sur Ibn Lahīʿa était
presque deux ans sous presse ; je ne l’ai eu sous les yeux, qu’à travers la critique
qu’en a faite Óarābīshī, v. note suivante.
17
Georges Óarābīshī, Ishkāliyyāt al – ʿaql al-ʿarabī, Beyrouth-London 1998,
11 ff./sqq.
18
Déjà en 1986, dans mon livre sur Ibn Lahīʿa, v. plus haut note 17, et depuis
souvent ailleurs.
Taghrībirdī (et d’autres aussi comme al-Suyūṭī19 après lui) nous rap-
porte dans sa citation d’al-Dhahabī, c’est pour mettre en exergue ici
aussi l’idée d’une évolution de plus en plus croissante dans l’activité
scripturaire, qui a commencé petit à petit, et s’est activée de façon
particulière dès cette date donnée par ce dernier historien, et non pour
reprendre des définitions de termes employés là, et que Óarābīshī
a assez mis en lumière. Si l’on regarde de près, on constate d’abord
qu’al-Dhahabī mentionne quelques provinces qui ont joué dans ce
processus un rôle plus grand que d’autres autour et après cette date
jusqu’au début du IIIe/VIIIe siècle :
1. Le Ḥidjāz, avec ses deux centres la Mecque et Médine.
2. L’Irak, avec Basra, Kufa (et Bagdad qui n’y est pas mentionnée
expressis verbis).
3. La Syrie avec sa capitale Damas.
4. Le Yémen (avec sa capitale Ṡanʿāʾ, qui n’y est pas mentionnée
expressis verbis).
5. L’Egypte en dernier lieu, sans y être mentionnée expressis verbis,
mais dont l’apport est énorme, par rapport aux autres provinces, sur
quoi je reviendrai un peu plus loin.
Entre-temps nous avons beaucoup plus de renseignements com-
plémentaires à ceux de Brockelmann,20 par les travaux de Sezgin,21 et
surtout par ceux de van Ess,22 concernant l’activité dans les provinces
nommées, des informations qui vont bien sûr au-delà de ce que nous
livre le passage d’al-Dhahabī. Néanmoins, ce dernier texte reste une
base solide de laquelle on peut partir, pour observer de manière assez
concrète la justesse de ses propos, en suivant la chronologie du déve-
loppement historique. Il y a donc concrètement un effort de plus en
plus gigantesque de mise par écrit de toutes sortes d’écrits, et bien sûr
de plusieurs d’entre eux qui nous intéressent ici, et qui peuvent nous
aider dans l’analyse d’une langue arabe ancienne, qui nous donne des
Ibid., 11, citant Al-Suyūṭī, Tārīkh al-khulafāʾ (éd. Du Caire 1964 ?)

19
Carl Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur, Supplementbände

20
1–3, Leyde 1937–1942.

21
Faut Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, I, Leyde 1967 ff./sqq.
22
Josef van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft im 2. und 3 Jahrhundert Hidschra,
Berlin-New York 1991 ff./sqq.
éléments intéressants concernant des états linguistiques postérieurs

de l’arabe moyen. Or ce qui frappe dès le départ c’est bien le fait que
les cercles privés, et plus tard ceux des mosquées et des madrasas se
basaient sur un enseignement oral, à l’intérieur de ce qu’on appelle
madjlis, pl. madjālis (séances) qu’on a déjà vues plus haut. Or ces
séances nous sont connues très tôt, et dûment documentées dès le
règne du calife Muʿāwiya à Damas, et ceci déjà grâce aux Akhbār
ʿUbayd (ʿAbīd) Ibn Sharya fī l-Yaman, publiés ensemble avec Kitāb
al-Tīdjān d’Ibn Hishām,23 auteur de la Sīra classique. Du fait que
ce dernier livre remonte à un autre de Wahb Ibn Munabbih (34–110
ou 114/654/655–728 ou 732), mais gonflé d’informations multiples
sur les Ḥimyarites, et qu’Ibn Sharya était encore plus âgé que Wahb,
comme on le verra dans les lignes suivantes, nous avons là les deux
textes les plus vieux sur le Yémen (histoire, légende, poésie…) ; tout
est là, et pousse à l’étude, à une étude plus exhaustive, et mérite,
à cause des trésors de toutes sortes qui y ont cachés, de les éditer de
manière soignée, en particulier concernant les noms propres et les
poèmes, particulièrement abondants surtout dans le livre de ʿAbīd.
Tous les deux veulent parler du Yémen, surtout ḥimyarite, vanter son
passé prestigieux et le rattacher à la grande tradition prophétique,
de laquelle était sorti le Prophète de l’Islam ; Kitāb al-Tīdjān est
néanmoins plus centré sur cette question, à cause du grand maître des
histoires prophétiques (bibliques) en Islam : Wahb Ibn Munabbih ;
alors qu’Akhbār ʿAbīd sont plus dans le genre narratif, dans lequel la
poésie est nettement plus importante, car elle forme une bonne partie
du livre et sert, selon le désir expresse du calife Muʿāwiya lui-même,
comme base de la véracité historique des renseignements, que lui
livre son hôte ʿUbayd.
En effet, c’était le calife qui avait fait venir ce dernier du Yémen
à Damas, sur conseil de son loyal allié, ʿAmr Ibn al-ʿAṣ (50 av. H.–43
H./574–663/664, le conquérant d’Egypte et son premier gouverneur.
Pourquoi l’a-t-il fait ? L’introduction du livre nous explique toute
l’histoire de la genèse du livre, dans tous ses détails, et met un lien avec
23
Les deux livres ont été édités d’abord à Haydarabad en 1347/1928 dans un
même volume, puis récemment par ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz al-Maqāliḥ à Ṡanʿāʾ en 1979, avec
une introduction succincte et des notes.
certains termes employés dans le texte susmentionné d’al-Dhahabī :

une fois le calife intronisé comme tel, et après avoir atteint l’apogée de
sa gloire, il montrait de plus en plus de l’intérêt pour l’histoire arabe
ancienne, à tel point que « sa joie préférée, à la fin de sa vie, étaient
les causeries nocturnes et les histoires des gens d’autre fois ».24 Nous
avons par là un vieux, très vieux témoignage qui corrobore l’intérêt
de Muʿāwiya (et de ses successeurs après lui) pour « la poésie, la
généalogie et l’histoire – ashʿār, ansāb et akhbār» des arabes, ce
qu’attestent aussi plusieurs auteurs postérieurs, comme al-Djāḥiã par
exemple.25 ʿAmr Ibn al-ʿÀṣ, qui va jouer un autre rôle important dans
un tout petit papyrus, publié par Abbott, et que nous verrons plus loin,
avait donc conseillé au calife d’engager ce conteur, le plus talentueux
et le plus renommé de son temps, qui, de plus, avait un âge tellement
fabuleux qu’il dépasse toute représentation, à tel point qu’al-Sidjistānī
(m. 25/864) le mentionne parmi les muʿammarūn.26 Et, à cause de
tout cela, il connaissait les rois des anciens arabes (avant l’Islam) et
était le plus compétent donc pour satisfaire l’attente du souverain
islamique. Dès le départ nous avons une description romanesque de
l’histoire, de son milieu et de ses acteurs, que le genre narratif dans
la culture arabe véhiculait dès le départ, comme une tradition extrê-
mement solide, à laquelle viendront se greffer d’autres composantes
importées d’Iran et d’ailleurs. Mais la base est déjà attestée ici, dans
le programme que Muʿāwiya nous dévoile dans le texte :
Innī aradtu ittikhādhaka muʾaddiban lī wa-samīran wa-muqawwi-
man. Wa-anā bāʿithun ilā ahlika wa-anquluhum ilā djiwārī wa-kun lī
samīran fī laylī wa-wazīran fī amrī.27 (Je te voulais comme éducateur
pour moi, comme causeur nocturne et comme conseiller. Et je vais
envoyer (des gens) vers ta famille et la chercher vers mes côtés. Sois
pour moi un conteur nocturne dans mes nuits et mon vizir dans mes
24
Akhbār ʿAbīd, 312, 7–8.
25
Là-dessus voir aussi Nabia Abbott, Studies in Arabic Literary Papyri, I, His-
torical Texts, Chicago 1957, 15 ff./sqq.
26
Sahl Ibn Muḥammad Abū Ḥātim al-Sidjistānī, Kitāb al-Muʿammarīn, éd.
Goldziher, Abhandlungen zur arabischen Philologie, (2. Teil, 2e partie) Leyde 1889,
texte arabe, 40–43.
27
Akhbār ʿAbīd, 313, 1–3.
affaires). Et le conteur fut proche du calife et lui conta, satisfaisant

l’intérêt que portait celui-ci pour le passé des arabes, leurs histoires
et leurs poésies. L’introduction du livre que j’ai analysée plus d’une
fois en détail, sous différents aspects, depuis mon livre sur Wahb Ibn
Munabbih jusqu’à maintenant, contient une information des plus
précieuses, que l’on puisse trouver sur l’histoire de la transmission
d’un livre dans la littérature arabe archaïque: Le calife semble avoir
été tellement impressionné par « Les histoires de son hôte » qu’ « il
donna l’ordre aux fonctionnaires de son Dīwān de les transcrire et de les
mettre sous forme de livre » (amara aṣḥāba dīwānihi an yuwaqqiʿūhu
wa-yudawwinūhu).28 Et Ibn al-Nadīm ajoute une phrase, qui ne se
trouve pas dans le livre de ʿAbīd : « Et de les attribuer à ʿAbīd Ibn
Sharya » (wa-yansubūhu ilā ʿUbayd Ibn Sharya).29
Voilà un texte qui est particulièrement utile pour notre sujet ici, qui
nous a conservé, comme rarement un autre livre de la littérature des
deux premiers siècles, une attestation documentaire sur la genèse de
cette œuvre d’une part, et de son rattachement à la mise par écrit des
premiers spécimens d’activité à cet égard. Et nous allons voir qu’il y a
plus d’une cause, pour pouvoir faire des rapprochements d’une part
entre ce livre et les manuscrits historiques sur papyrus, dont l’origine
remonte au temps de Mʿāwiya et de ses premiers successeurs, sous
lesquels Ibn Munabbih a vécu et est mort, d’autre part aussi entre
lui et les plus vieux fragments qui nous sont arrivés des Mille et une
Nuits, sur papyrus ou sur papier.
IV. Importance des documents dits « égyptiens » et

de leurs terminologies dans ce processus
N’est-il pas normal de voir de l’Egypte, terre du papyrus, quatre
savants mentionnés dans le texte d’al-Dhahabī, cité ci-dessus ? Est-
il étonnant de voir ce pays représenté de manière plus forte que les
autres dans cette transmission scripturaire qui se systématisait de
plus en plus, alors que le papyrus y était autrement abondant et qu’il
28
Ibid., 313, 9–10.
29
Ibn al-Nadīm, Fihrist, éd. Flügel, I, Leipzig, 1971–1972, 90.
y avait là à cause de cela une tradition millénaire, autrement sûre

dans ce domaine ? Et c’est à cause de cela que cette province isla-
mique a pu profiter, justement au début de cette explosion culturelle,
et avant que le papier n’ait pu satisfaire vraiment tous les besoins
nécessaires, de cette tradition et conserver les spécimens les plus
vieux de cette activité. Et c’est de là que nous avons des informations
presque uniques touchant des centres bibliothécaires au IIe/VIIIe
siècle, où se réunissaient les savants et les disciples, de l’Egypte et
de toutes parts de l’Empire Islamique, pour enseigner, apprendre et
codifier. Rien d’étonnant, puisque ce pays est devenu, dès ce siècle
déjà, une véritable plaque tournante pour les hommes de science (et
les hommes d’affaires, et beaucoup d’entre eux étaient les deux à la
fois) entre l’est et l’ouest.30 Le mot amené par les sources citées plus
haut se comprend donc bien et fait sauter cette importance aux yeux,
grâce au plus grand nombre de savants qu’al-Dhahabī mentionne
par leurs noms. Oralité qui a cédé le pas de plus en plus à l’écriture,
cependant sans disparaître, mais tout en continuant à accompagner
les versions mises par écrit, même jusqu’au IVe/Xe siècle.31 Quant
à la langue classique telle qu’elle se présente dans les papyrus, elle
est amenée par Rabin dans son article sous le numéro 3 des sources,
c’est-à-dire « la correspondance officielle de Muḥammad et les anciens
papyrus », grâce auxquels Hopkins a décrit la grammaire de l’arabe
ancien. Cette attitude est compréhensible d’un côté, amène certains
problèmes qui nécessitent cependant plus d’une précision :
1. D’abord il faut insister sur le fait que le papyrus était la matière
d’écriture répandue parmi les arabes, depuis la conquête d’Egypte,
et de plus en plus au cours du IIe/VIIIe et du IIIe/IXe siècles, sans
concurrence majeure, car ce qui nous est resté sur d’autres matériels
30
Entre-temps nous disposons de listes de plus en plus impressionnantes de
noms de savants qui ont passé par ce pays, qui s’y sont installés, ou qui sont allés
plus loin vers les autres provinces islamiques au Maghreb…, comme en témoignent
surtout beaucoup de livres historiques sur les premiers siècles en Egypte ; voir par
exmple les listes d’isnād -s analysés chez R. G. Khoury, Les légendes prophétiques
(plus loin, note 49), ou ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa, etc.
31
A ce sujet v. p. ex. W. Werkmeister : Quellenuntersuchungen zum K. al-ʿIqd
al-farīd des Andalusiers Ibn ʿAbd Rabbih, Berlin 1983 (Islamkundliche Untersuc-
hungen 70) usw.
d’écriture est insignifiant comparé à la masse des pièces de toutes

sortes, surtout sous forme de documents multiples, conservés dans
beaucoup de bibliothèques européennes (surtout à Vienne) ; et il
n’est pas superflu de signaler que l’emploi du papyrus s’est prolongé,
aussi après l’introduction du papier, bien sûr de manière décroissante,
même jusqu’au VIIIe/XIVe siècle. Ce qui fait que nous n’avons pas
grand-chose sur papier des premiers temps, après l’installation d’une
fabrique près de Bagdad ; et l’on sait que l’on ne connaît pas de textes
sur papier, datés ou datables de la première moitié du IIe/VIIIe siècle,
et que les dates des plus vieux textes connus, sur papier, varient entre
260/873 et 297/909.32 Or plusieurs textes de cette période du IIe et
du IIIe siècles islamiques ne constituent pas de documents dans le
sens papyrologique, mais sont des textes littéraires, appartenant au
ḥadīṯh, non seulement comme la production de ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Wahb
(125–197/743–812),33 qui nous a laissé un volume entier sur papyrus
concernant la tradition islamique, publié par David-Weill, et qu’il fal-
lait rééditer, de manière plus complète que celui-ci ne l’a fait,34 mais
aussi comme celles de ses deux maîtres égyptiens : d’abord al-Layth
Ibn Saʿd (94–175/713–791), grand maître scientifique, « émir non
couronné » et grand richissime du pays, dont la fortune a augmenté
considérablement aussi à cause de la science, mais qui n’a jamais
accepté un poste quelconque, alors qu’il avait des relations privilégiés
avec Hārūn al-Rashīd, qu’il aurait tiré d’un embarras juridique.35 Il a été
sans doute le chef de l’école juridique la plus marquante de l’Egypte,
mais qui a perdu vite après sa mort de sa force, surtout parce qu’il n’a
pas eu de disciples forts qui ont lutté en sa faveur. Il était un grand
32
Concernant le papier, v. J. Karabacek : Das arabische Papier, in : Mitteilungen
aus der Sammlung der Papyrus
Erzherzog Rainer II – III , Vienne, 18887, 87–178, surtout 22 sq., 90 sq.; G. En-
dreß: Handschriftenkunde, in: Grundriß der Arabischen Philologie (éd. W. Fischer),
I, Wiesbaden 1982, 275–276.
33
Ibid., 122–124.
34
J. David-Weill, Le Djâmiʿ d’Ibn Wahb, Le Caire (Public. de l’IFAO, Textes
Arabes III, 1–2) 1939, 1941–1948.
35
Là-dessus, R. G. Khoury, al-BaḥÝ al-ʿilmī wa-l- mihan al-ḥurra fī l-qarnayn
al-awwalayn li-l-Hidjra. In: Dirāsāt muhdāt ilā ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ad-Dūrī, éd. Fāliḥ
Ḥusayn,Amman 1995, 110–119.
mécène et soutenait beaucoup d’autres savants, comme par exemple

Mālik Ibn Anas lui-même, dont il a pris le rite, pour en devenir le
maître en Egypte, cependant avec des nuances par rapport à Mālik ;
c’est pourquoi a recouru à lui le transmetteur de la première recen-
sion du Muwaṭṭaʾ de l’imām de Médine.36 Le savant suivant, tout de
suite derrière al-Layth, est ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa (97–174/715–790),
juge et grand maître de l’Ecole Egyptienne, et grand ami de ce dernier,
qui l’a grandement aidé financièrement, surtout après l’incendie de
sa maison37 ; il nous a laissé un rouleau de papyrus, dont le rôle sur
le plan de la transmission des textes, était plus que primordial non
seulement dans la diffusion de la culture islamique, mais avec cela
dans la consolidation de textes classiques du ḥadīth mis par écrit, ceci
on a souvent tendance à l’oublier, alors qu’il est primordial pour tout
ce qui concerne le développement de la culture archaïque en Islam et
donc de celui de la langue arabe classique.38
2. Comme second point important il faut revoir la notion de ḥadīth,
qui donc appartient au genre de la tradition prophétique ou islamique
d’une part, et d’autre part à tout ce qui a été conté et transmis d’abord
oralement, avant d’être mis définitivement par écrit ; ce genre de lit-
térature comprend toutes sortes d’histoires prophétiques, qui étaient
de plus en plus diffusées, dès le début de l’Islam et accompagnait
les soldats et les autres masses des fidèles, pour les exhorter à la
piété et leur donner des notions clarifiantes concernant les données
coraniques qui se rapportaient à la Bible, à ses prophètes et à son
rattachement au monde arabe ancien. Or l’emploi très vaste de ce
mot, qui a accompagné tout le développement de la langue arabe vers
son état classique dans les deux premiers siècles, est très significatif
à ce sujet, car il nous montre plus qu’à l’évidence comment les textes
36
M. Muranyi, Materialien zur mālikitischen Rechtsliteratur, Wiesbaden (Studien
zum islamischen Recht 1) 1984, 99 f./sq.
37
Sur lui, R. G. Khoury, ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa, 173 sqq., avec la mention de sa
lettre à Mālik Ibn Anas auquel il dit en des termes clairs ce qu’il pense de lui, sans
aucun complexe. A-Layth Ibn Saʿd (94–175 H./713–791) grand maître et mécène
de lÉgypte, vu à travers quelques documents islamiques anciens. Festschrift Nabia
Abbot. Universität Chicago. Teil I. In: JNES. Bd. XL, 3 (1981) S. 189–202.
38
Sur ce dernier auteur et son œuvre, v. plus haut la note 18.
étaient d’abord parlés, avant d’être fixés par écrit ; ceci signifie quoi
d’autre sinon que les versions dites classiques ont passé par la bouche
des savants, d’abord dans des séances, qu’on aurait pu appeler, selon
un terme employé encore beaucoup de nos jours chez les arabes des
provinces orientales, maḍāfa (salon), mais qui a porté tôt le nom de
madjlis, pl. madjālis, ce qui correspond au mot séances, dans les-
quelles on contait, on transmettait, on enseignait etc. C’est ainsi que
sont nés les livres les plus vieux sur le Yémen avant l’Islam, surtout
les Akhbār ʿUbayd Ibn Sharya : Ces Histoires de ʿUbayd sur le passé
yéménite, ḥimyarite, furent contées par lui à la cour de Muʿāwiya,
sur demande de ce calife, qui était féru de tout ce qui se rapportait
aux arabes anciens ; et c’est bien ce prince des croyants lui-même
qui aurait ordonné aux fonctionnaires de son Dīwān de les mettre par
écrit et de les rattacher au nom du transmetteur, le plus fameux et le
plus âgé de son temps, comme on l’a vu plus haut.39
Bien sûr qu’on a employé dans ce livre un autre mot que ḥadīth,
comme titre général de ce livre, conté oralement d’abord, mais il est
aussi sûr que le mot de khabar, pl. akhbār n’était pas en vogue, pour
désigner un titre, et que les titres sont un gros problème, sur lesquels
tout seuls on ne peut pas toujours compter, dans le classement d’une
évolution non seulement culturelle, mais aussi philologique des pre-
miers temps de l’Islam. Au début du texte nous avons un transmetteur
du troisième siècle, qui fait remonter le ḥadīth (bien sûr à ʿUbayd) ; et
ce n’est qu’à l’intérieur du texte que l’on a une petite description du
contenu, qui s’occupe de waqāʾiʿ al-ʿarab wa-ashʿārihā wa-akhbārihā
(des évènements des arabes, de leurs poésies et de leurs histoires) ;
ainsi le livre reste dans le cadre de ce qui était conté et nommé, avant
tout par le terme de ḥadīth. L’exemple le plus frappant nous est livré
par l’Histoire de David, attribuée à Wahb Ibn Munabbih, et qui est
de la même époque ou tout au plus du début du IIe/VIIIe siècle, et
dont nous avons une version un peu plus tardive, qui a été conservée
dans la Bibliothèque privée du juge Ibn Lahīʿa, mentionné plus haut ;
elle porte le titre de Ḥadīth Dāwūd, alors que le titre de ses Maghāzī
39
Akhbār ʿAbīd, 313, 1 sqq. ; Ibn al-Nadīm, Fihrist, éd. Flügel, I, Leipzig,
1971–1972, 90. Sur ce livre, imprimé ensemble avec Kitāb al-Tīdjān d’Ibn Hishām,
v. plus haut note 24.
Rasūl Allāh n’a pas été conservé dans le texte.40 Le premier papyrus
est daté de 229/844, le second est de la même période, malgré qu’il
ne porte pas de date, puisqu’il s’agit du même transmetteur égyptien
Muḥammad Ibn Baḥr al-Qurashī, Abū Óalḥa, qui a appartenu à la
même époque des disciples d’Ibn Lahīʿa, et à cause de cela n’a pas pu
ignorer la fameuse bibliothèque de leur maître et de celui de l’Egypte.41
L’importance des textes dits égyptiens ne s’arrête en aucune ma-
nière là, mais elle va bien au-delà, car certains termes employés par
ces manuscrits, sur papyrus ou sur papier, aident à contrôler la trans-
mission de beaucoup d’autres textes ou fragments de textes anciens,
et partant à les situer chronologiquement, de façon assez sûre. Par la
description de cette activité narrative, on voit qu’il est donc important
de tenir compte du genre lui-même, d’abord par rapport à l’Arabie
préislamique, aux premiers temps de l’Islam et au goût, tôt observé,
chez les califes omeyyades pour leur patrimoine arabe ancien, qu’ils
voulaient faire revivre dans leurs cours. Il est aussi important de ne
pas prendre les données bio-bibliographiques de ce grand historien
islamique al-Dhahabī, cité plus haut, comme des informatives ex-
haustives sur tout le développement de l’activité de codification et
de transmission de l’ensemble de la culture arabo-islamique de cette
époque. Néanmoins, nous avons là des indicateurs lumineux, qui ont
dû lui avoir été plus perceptibles que d’autres, dans cette poussée im-
pressionnante de l’écriture, qui devient un instrument indispensable
de communication dans l’Empire Islamique : Celui-ci augmente en
espace et en importance, tout se ramifie, tout risque de trop déborder ;
l’écriture devient un instrument vital de communication, de réunion,
de cohésion, ce qui a poussé al-Qalqashandī à énoncer la fameuse
phrase suivante :
« Al-kitābatu ussu l-mulki wa-ʿimādu al-mamlakati » (l’écriture
est la base du règne et le pilier du royaume).42
40
Sur l’édition de ces deux textes, voir R. G. Khoury, Wahb Ibn Munabbih…,
Wiesbaden (Codices Arabici Antiqui I) 1972, I, 33 sqq., 117 ff./sqq.
41
Ibid., 34, 3; 118, 1.
42
Al-Ḳalḳashandī, Ṡubḥ al-aʿshā, Le Caire 1331/1913, I, 37, 11 ; voir aussi
toute cette page et les suivantes, dans lesquelles il a réuni tout ce qui a été dit de
bon à ce sujet.
A suivre de près toutes ces données concernant l’activité scriptu-

raire, nous constatons que toutes tendent à mettre en évidence un
changement scientifique sensible, marqué par l’introduction de mots,
en grand nombre, dont on ne parlait pas de la même manière, avec
la même intensité, la même fréquence, avant la période abbasside.
Et il ne faut point se figer dans l’analyse des mots, pour voir quel
ordre chronologique leur donner, dans un examen systématique du
mouvement scripturaire. Car les livres scientifiques se constituaient
là, de plus en plus volumineux, au fur et à mesure que les matériels
de l’écriture se diffusaient un peu partout, à l’intérieur des cercles
savants, surtout en Egypte où les auteurs égyptiens ont eu plus de
chance qu’ailleurs de trouver toutes facilités pour leurs tâches scriptu-
raires. Il s’agit donc d’une activité qui commença à petits pas, mais
qui devint de plus en plus explosive, sitôt que les conditions étaient
devenues très favorables. Il ne suffisait plus de codifier (dawwana),
terme employé par Muʿāwiya par rapport aux fonctionnaires de son
Dīwān, comme nous l’avons vu plus haut concernant les Akhbār de
ʿAbīd – ʿUbayd Ibn Sharya. Il était devenu impérieux d’ordonner
(rattaba, tartīb) cette masse d’écrits, qui augmentait sans cesse. On
codifiait donc, puis on classait ce qu’on avait codifié, et nous voilà dans
un mouvement de classification (taṣnīf) et de mise en ordre par thèmes,
par chapitres (tabwīb) ; et quelle importance si l’ordre chronologique
de ce travail naissant et s’amplifiant n’est pas tout à fait respecté par
les textes qui s’y réfèrent, car il est particulièrement important que
l’on voit des termes comme ceux-ci employés, alors qu’ils étaient
ou non utilisés encore dans le sens qui nous est devenu familier, ou
ils étaient employés de manière non ordonnés : Al-Dhahabī l’a bien
souligné, en écrivant :
« Wa-kathura tabwību l-ʿilmi wa-tadwīnuhu wa-rabat wa-duwwi-
nat kutubu l-ʿarabiyyati wa-l-lughati wa-l-tārīkhi wa-ayyāmi l-nāsi
wa-qabla hādhā l-ʿaṣri kāna sāyiri (sāʾiru) l-ʿulamāʾi yatakallamūna
ʿan ḥifzihim wa-yarwūna l-ʿilma ʿan ṣuḥufin ṣaḥiḥatin ghayri murat-
tabatin fa-suhhila wa-li-l-llāhi l-ḥamdu tanāwulu l-ʿilmi fa-akhadha
l-ḥifzu yatanāqaṣu ».
« La classification et la mise par écrit de la science ne cessèrent

d’augmenter : les livres sur l’arabe, la langue, l’histoire et les chroniques
furent fixés par écrit, alors qu’avant cette période tous les savants
parlaient de mémoire et transmettaient la science à partir de feuilles
authentiques (mais) non ordonnées ; ainsi fut simplifiée, Dieu merci,
la transmission de la science, de telle manière que la transmission
orale se mit à diminuer ».43
Ce qui est essentiel, et qui doit avoir correspondu à la réalité
historique dans la codification et transmission des textes, ce sont des
expressions clef qui qualifient la période d’avant 143 H. de période
dans laquelle on transmettait « de mémoire » (ḥifãan), ce qui ne veut
en aucune manière signifier que tout se faisait seulement ainsi, car
l’historien ajoute tout de suite une expression rectificative, wa-yarwūna
l-ʿilma ʿan ṣuḥufin ṣaḥiḥatin ghayri murattabatin « et transmettaient
la science à partir de feuilles authentiques (mais) non ordonnées ».
Donc la transmission orale y régnait, sûrement, néanmoins pas de
manière exclusive, puisqu’il y a avait « des feuilles authentiques »,
ce qui justifie les données concernant les débuts de ces sciences isla-
miques fixées par écrit, en partie ; et, comme il s’agissait de débuts,
rappelons-nous les mots de Zakī Mubārak, cités plus haut, où il parlait
de « balbutiements » ;44 al-Dhahabī parle en connaissance de cause de
(ṣuḥuf) ghayr murattaba, c’est-à-dire non ordonnées, non travaillées
de manière systématique, parce que ni le temps n’était mûr pour cela,
ni les conditions extérieures n’étaient réalisées pour le permettre. Et
la langue, que faisait-elle dans tout ce processus ? Nous allons le voir
un peu plus loin, car tout cela concerne aussi son évolution vers un
état de plus en plus classique.
Les papyrus conservés dans la Bibliothèque du juge Ibn Lahīʿa
nous permettent d’élucider la portée du passage d’al-Dhahabī, car là
nous tombons juste sur ce que nous permettent d’observer les papyrus
qui ont survécu, malgré les dates un peu postérieures à cette année
magique avancée par l’auteur : Tous ces papyrus remontent à l’époque
du juge d’Egypte et au travail effectué dans sa maison par des dis-
43
Voir R. G. Khoury, ʿAbd Allāh Ibn Lahīʿa , ibid., 31 f./sq.
44
Voir Zakī Mubārak, plus haut notes 7 ff./sqq.
ciples, dans sa bibliothèque privée, et sans doute ailleurs autour de

lui, sans que l’on ait, ailleurs, les mêmes traces d’une telle activité
sur papyrus, attestée par des spécimens anciens. Et c’est là que l’on
comprend combien il avait raison de mentionner parmi les quelques
représentants éminents de leur temps quatre égyptiens. En tête de leur
activité scripturaire, il y a le rouleau d’Ibn Lahīʿa lui-même, et, ce
qui est très important, certains originaux ou des copies d’originaux
remontant à Wahb Ibn Munabbih, transmis par des membres de la
famille de ce dernier, et, plus tard aussi par des disciples égyptiens
de ce dernier lui-même, installés dans ce pays, ou des visiteurs qui
ont copié d’eux, à l’intérieur de la bibliothèque privée du maître
Ibn Lahīʿa, enrichissant leur propre activité : Ainsi Wathīma et son
fils ʿUmāra susmentionnés, et dont le manuscrit sur les histoires
prophétiques nous a gardé l’ensemble des traditions anciennes dans
ce domaine, qui remontent aux premières générations islamiques, et
donc avant tout au susmentionné Wahb.
A ces écrits il faut ajouter les deux fragments sur les 1001 Nuits
et l’ « Ideal Maiden ». Commençons pour cela par les plus vieux
fragments connus des Mille et une Nuits, publiés par Nabia Abbott :
Par rapport au papyrus sur l’« Ideal Maiden » étudié plus haut, il est
simple de le rattacher à l’époque de la date 143 H., car, comme on l’a
vu plus haut, père et fils transmetteurs du texte de 11 lignes, publié
par N. Abbott, remontent à une époque antérieure : Le père est mort
114/732, donc un véritable contemporain de Wahb Ibn Munabbih,
dont on avance cette dernière date, comme deuxième possibilité pour
sa mort ; par contre la date de mort du fils est 155/771, et donc toute
proche des données d’al-Dhahabī ; elle coïncide de plus avec l’année
d’entrée en fonction du juge Ibn Lahīʿa. Que veut-on alors de plus
éloquent que ces dates !
Quant à l’autre fragment mentionnant expressis verbis les 1001
Nuits, l’affaire est moins claire d’emblée, mais elle ne laisse pas de
doute sur l’ancienneté de sa première version. Car on a vu plus haut
que la date qu’il porte n’est autre que celle des témoignages, elle a été
multipliée à loisir, avec la multiplication de ceux-ci ; et ce qui prouve
son ancienneté est bien le texte de son introduction, dans laquelle le

mot ḥadīth apparaît dans le titre du fragment :
Kitāb 2. fīhi ḥadīth 3. Alf Layla. Lā ḥaula 4. wa-lā ḳuwwata illā
bi-llāhi l- 5. ʿaliyy al-ʿaãīm. (Un livre , dans lequel il y a l’histoire
des 1000 Nuits. Il n’y a de puissance et de force qu’en Dieu le Haut
et le Puissant).
Un titre alléchant, car il amène une toute vieille tradition dans
le genre narratif : l’emploi du terme de ḥadīth pour tout ce qui est
conte, histoire narrée, et qui a été lentement, mais sûrement réservé
à un certain moment à la tradition islamique pure, alors que pour la
notion d’histoire (contée) on a établi définitivement un autre terme,
celui de qiṣṣa, utilisé surtout dans les qiṣaṣ al-anbiyāʾ ou histoires
prophétiques. Une lumière spéciale est jetée là par « l’Histoire de
David », conservée sur papyrus dans la collection papyrologique de
Heidelberg et attribuée à Wahb Ibn Munabbih, dont il a été question
plus haut ; elle portait encore comme titre : Ḥadīth Dāwūd.45 Or le
livre de Wathīma, qui a copié de cette « Histoire », et du reste des
autres qui ont formé le corpus sur les prophètes bibliques de Wahb,
atteste ce changement, bien que l’auteur ne soit mort que quelques
années après la date du papyrus en question. Et son manuscrit est
très volumineux, en deux parties, dont l’une seule – allant de Moïse
et d’al-Khiḍr au prophète Mahomet – a survécu en 400 pages ; et il
serait inimaginable de penser qu’il s’est mis à écrire son livre en entier
juste avant sa mort ; plutôt il faut imaginer une date beaucoup plus
reculée, qui amènerait automatiquement à l’époque d’Ibn Lahīʿa, dont
il a fréquenté les cercles, ou tout au moins de ces disciples directs.
En gros on peut donc tout à fait imaginer que l’abandon du terme
de ḥadīth, en faveur de celui de qiṣṣa, a dû avoir lieu vers le début
du IIIe/IXe siècle.46
45
Voir là-dessus R. G. Khoury, Wahb Ibn Munabbih…, , I, 33 (titre complet des
deux papyrus de Wahb, plus haut note 43).
46
Sur ce livre, voir R. G. Khoury, Les légendes prophétiques en Islam depuis le
I jusqu’au IIIe siècle de l’Hégire. D’après le manuscrit d’Abū Rifāʿa b. Wathīma
er
b. Mūsā b. al-Furāt al-Fārisī : Kitāb Badʾ al-ḫalq wa-qiṣaṣ al-anbiyāʾ. Avec éd. Cri-
tique du texte. Wiesbaden (Codices Arabici Antiqui III) 1978 : le fils (m. 289/902),
137–139, le père (m. 237/851), 139–150, et les deux 150–158.
Revenons au patrimoine préislamique qui a été codifié, sur ordre

du calife Muʿāwiya, et a fini par nous arriver dans une version plus
tardive, c’est-à-dire ou à la même époque des papyrus datés de Heidel-
berg, ou à l’époque du fragment des 1001 Nuits de Chicago. Comme
expression particulièrement éloquente de cette activité, nous avons
vu le livre des Akhbār de ʿAbīd – ʿUbayd Ibn Sharya, de son pendant
chez Ibn Munabbih, transmis de manière élargie par Ibn Hishām . Ce
livre vient s’ajouter à ces exemples de textes anciens, qui remontent
à une époque archaïque, de toute manière plus ancienne que celle de
la version qui nous est arrivée (IIIe/IXe siècle). Car il y a là Muʿāwiya
d’un côté qui en avait ordonné la codification, et d’un autre le terme
ḥadīth, employé en tête du livre, et tout proche du titre, ce qui atteste
l’appartenance de ces histoires sur le Yémen au fond des histoires
profanes narrées, ou ḥadīth, aḥādīth, dont il a été question plus haut
par rapport à Ḥadīth Dāwūd ou Histoire de David, et qui ont été fixées
par écrit, avant la classification systématique des écrits à partir de la
deuxième moitié du IIe VIIIe ou du début du IIIe/IXe siècle. Bien sûr
il faut y ajouter aussi les écrits, qui sont d’époque omeyyade et qui
viennent de cet auteur ou premier transmetteur de ce dernier papyrus
(Wahb Ibn Munabbih), et qui furent transmis par des membres de sa
famille et colportés vers l’Egypte, et de même ceux conservés ou
opiés en Egypte dans la maison du fameux juge de ce pays ʿAbd Allāh
Ibn Lahīʿa et transmis par des disciples de ce dernier, parmi lesquels
se trouvait le livre de Wathīma Ibn Mūsā Ibn al-Furāt al-Fārisī et de
son fils ʿUmāra. Un programme pas du tout négligeable, qui change
radicalement la vue théorique répandue avant la découverte de tous
ces documents, et établit surtout la liaison qui les réunit, et à l’aide
de laquelle on peut retracer un développement chronologique de la
codification et de la transmission des textes, d’une part, et, d’autre
part de la fixation de la langue arabe classique en général pendant les
premiers siècles islamiques.
Jerzy Hauziński
Pomeranian University in Słupsk
Al-Afshin – a traitor? On political

particularism in the caliphate of early
Abbasids once again
So far there have been numerous interpretations concerning the
famous leader caliph Al-Mu’tasim, Al-Afshin, sometimes called also
the “Turk”, his career on the Abbasid court and the reasons of his
downfall. One of the first sketches on the origins of Al-Afshin in the
milieu of Central-Asian iranism was provided by Edward G. Browne1
in A Literary History of Persia (vol. I). Besides, Al-Afshin’s career
was discussed from the perspective of anti-Islamic and anti-Arabic
movements of 2nd and 3rd century of the Islamic calendar by Gholam
H. Sadighi.2 Al-Afshin was also mentioned by one of the most prominent
Russian researchers into the history of Muslim Middle Ages (especially
of Central Asia), Wasiliy V. Barthol’d (1869–1930).3 Al-Afshin’s role
in suppressing the Babak’s movement and its Khurramits was discussed
1
E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, vol. I. From the Earliest Times
until Firdawsí, Cambridge, 1902, pp. 330–336.
2
G. H. Sadighi, Les mouvements religieux iraniens au IIe et IIIe siècles de
l’hégire, Paris, 1938, pp. 287–305.
3
W. V. Barthold, Turkestan down to the Mongol invasion, London, 1968 (3. ed.),
pp. 202, 210–211, also his article “Afshīn”, Enzyklopaedie des Islām, vol. I. A-D.
Leiden-Leipzig, 1913, p. 188.
88 Jerzy Hauziński
by a Soviet – Azerbaijan Arabist and historian Ziya Buniyatov.4 In

contrast, Bertold Spuler and Clifford E. Bosworth wrote about Al-
Afshin from the perspective of the history of early medieval Iran.5
A Soviet scholar, Numan N. Negmatov, provided a brilliant analysis of
the early history of Usrushana (also Ushrusana, Usrushana), explain-
ing the transition of its state structures from antiquity to the Middle
Ages.6 Furthermore, Usrushana was also mentioned briefly by Guy Le
Strange,7 whereas a Soviet (Tajik) scholar Bobojan Gafurov proved
that the very name Ustrushana was correct.8 This region is situated
in the south of the great southernmost bend of the Syr Darya and is
extended roughly from Samarqand to Khujand. Thus, the Syr Darya
river forms the northern boundary of Usrushana.
“Afshin” used to be the old title of Usrushana princes. This title
was used by an Arab historian Al-Yaqubi to refer to a certain Ghurak,
a Central-Asian leader, in a treaty made with the conqueror of Tran-
soxiana Qutaiba ibn Muslim, in a note: “Ikhsid min Sughd, Afshin
min Samarqand.”9 The term is an arabicized form of Middle Persian
Pishīn, Avestan Pinsinah, a proper name of uncertain etymology. In
4
Z. Buniyatov, Azerbayjan v VII – IX vv., Baku, 1965, pp. 257–267, 270–283
(in Russian).
5
B. Spuler, Iran in früh-islamischer Zeit, Wiesbaden, 1952, pp. 62–63, 65–67,
140; C. E. Bosworth, The Tāhirids and Saffārids, Cambridge History of Iran, vol. IV.
From the Arab invasion to the Saljuqs, Cambridge, 1975, pp. 96–98, 100; R. Mot-
tahadeh, The ʿAbbāsid Caliphate in Iran, idem, pp. 75–76. See also the article „Afšīn”
[C. E. Bosworth], Encyclopedia Iranica, ed. E. Yarshater, London-Boston, vol. I, 1982.
6
N. N. Negmatov, Usrušana v drevnosti i rannem srednevekov’e, Stalinabad, 1957.
7
G. Le Strange, The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate, Cambridge, 1930 (Ed. 1.
1905), pp. 474–476. The latest art. Usrūshana, EI2, vol. X. T-U, 2000 [J. H. Kramers].
8
B. Gafurow (Gafurov), Dzieje i kultura ludów Azji Centralnej [History and
Culture of Central-Asiatic Peoples], Warszawa, 1978, p. 298. Lectio „Ustrushana”
is introduced to „Istoriya Tajikskogo naroda”, ed. ed. B. Gafurov, A. M. Belenicki,
vol. II, part 1. Moscow 1964. See Index p. 487.
9
Al-Yaʾqūbī, Taʾrikh, ed. M. T. Houtsma as Historiae. Vol. II. Leiden, 1883,
p. 344. On this title see V. I. Abayev, Sredneazyatskiy političeskiy termin afšin, Vestnik
Drevn’ey Istorii, 1959, fasc. 2, pp. 112–116 (in Russian); see also C. E. Bosworth,
G. Clauson, Al-Xwārazni on the Poeples of Central Asia, IRAS 1965, pp. 7–8.
Al-Afshin – a traitor? On political particularism in the caliphate of early Abbasids once again 89
pre-Islamic Iranian tradition, it is the name of a grandson of Kayanid

king Kavad.10
In medieval Arab-Islamic writings, the most famous of all Afshins,
Haydar ibn Kavus, is often called a “Turk”, since it was a general term
referring to caliph’s soldiers from eastern borders of the Caliphate.11
The reason why Abbasid mercenaries were called “Turks” was aptly
explained by M. A. Shaban: “It must be said without hesitation that
this is a most misleading misnomer which has led some scholars to
harp ad nauseam on an utterly unfounded interpretation of the fol-
lowing era, during which they unreasonably ascribed all events to
Turkish domination. In fact the great majority of these troops were
not Turks. It has been frequently pointed out that Arabic sources use
the term Turk in a very loose manner. The Hephthalites are referred
to as Turks, so are the peoples of Gurgan, Khwarizm and Sistan.
Indeed, with the exception of the Soghdians, Arabic sources refer to
all peoples not subjects of the Sasanian empire as Turks.”12 Al-Afshin
did not feel that he belonged to that multiethnic group recruited from
slaves,13 as he was a free man, of old aristocratic ancestry. His status
was recognized by the caliph who nominated him an amir in his native
dominion. Despite the fact that some Iranian and Turkish rulers of the
Mavarannahr (Transoxania) and of further territories of Central Asia
during the reign of the caliph Al-Mahdi recognized the supremacy of
the Caliphate,14 the political status of these lands was unclear. Links of
those lands with the Abbasid state were very weak, and, as shown by
subsequent events, were finally severed. It can be deduced from the fact
that during Harun al-Rashid’s reign in 178/794–795 Al-Fadl ibn Yahya
10
C. E. Bosworth, art. Afšīn, Encyclopaedia Iranica, vol. I.
11
M. A. Shaban, Islamic History. A New Interpretation, vol. II. AD. 750–1055
(A. H. 132–448), Cambridge, 1976, p. 63.
12
See above.
13
E. M. Wright, Bābak of Badhdh and al-Afshīn during the Years 816–841 A. D.
Symbols of Iranian Persistence against Islamic Penetration in North Iran, “The Mus-
lim World” 38 (1948), pp. 124–131; see also E. Herzfeld, Geschichte der Samarra
(Forschungen zur islamischen Kunst, hrsg. von. F. Sarre, II, Die Ausgrabungen von
Samarra, VI), Hamburg 1948, p. 149 n. 3.
14
R. Mottahedeh, The ʿAbbasīd Caliphate in Iran, p. 67, see W. Barthold,
Turkestan, pp. 209–210.
90 Jerzy Hauziński
Barmaki led an expedition to Transoxania and subdued Afshin ruling

there under the name Kharakhana.15 Subsequent expeditions were sent
to Usrushana by Al-Mamun when he was a governor in Marv. When
Al-Mamun became a caliph, Kavus, the son of Afshin Kharakhana,
who had yielded to Al-Fadl ibn Yahya, forsook his allegiance to Arabs.
Soon after Al-Mamun’s arrival in Bagdad from the east (202/817–818
or 204/819–820), struggle among the reigning family of Usrushana
was resumed. Kavus’s son Haydar, known later in caliph’s milieu as
Al-Afshin, had to escape to Khurasan, and then to caliphal court in
Bagdad, where his proper career began. In 207/822 he was a guide
to the Arab expedition to Usrushana, led by Ahmad ibn Abi Khalid,
because caliph’s soldiers did not know the way. Haydar’s father,
Kavus, then submitted, traveled to Baghdad and finally embraced
Islam, being mentioned as tributary ruler of his province. Allegedly,
he died soon afterwards and was succeeded as “Al-Afshin” or amir
of Usrushana by Haydar. Al-Afshin or Haydar, having converted to
Islam, began his career in the Abbasid court as a commander in the
guard of Al-Mamun’s brother Abu Ishaq Muhammad, the future caliph
Al-Muʾtasim, in that time the governor of Egypt. After his arrival in
Egypt at the turn of 830 and 831 (Dhuʾl – Qada 215) Al-Afshin was
first sent as governor of Al-Barqa, and soon afterwards he was given
orders to suppress rebellions of the Copts and Bedouins of the Banu
Mudlij in the regions of Alexandria and the Delta. At that time he is
also said to form Al-Muʾtasim’s guard of Al-Maghariba, consisting
of Arabs and lesser ethnic groups from the deserts of Lower Egypt.16
Al-Afshin’s rise in caliphal favor culminated in his nomination
as supreme commander in the struggle against Babak, leader of the
15
Al-Tabarī, Muhammad b. Jarīr, Tāʾrikh al Rusul wa al-Mulūk, ed. M. J. de
Goeje et al., as Annales quos scripsit Abu Djafar III., Leiden, 1879, p. 631, English
trans., The History of al-Tabarī, vol. XXX. The ʿAbbasīd Caliphate in Equilibrium
translated and annotated by C. E. Bosworth, Albany, N. Y., p. 143 (there is a from:
Khārākhrah?).
16
Al-Kindi, Abū ʿUmar Muhammad b. Yūsuf. Kitāb al-wulāt wa kitāb al-qudāt,
ed. R. Guest as Governors and Judges of Egypt. GMS XIX. Leiden and London,
1912, pp. 189–192; Tabari, III, p. 1105, trans., The History of al-Tabari, vol. XXXII.
The Reunification of the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate, Albany, N. Y., 1987, p. 188 (trans. by
C. E. Bosworth).
anti-Islamic movement of the Khurramiyya, which had set Arran,

Azerbaijan and the province Jibal (northwestern Persia) afire. It
should be mentioned that anti-Islamic and anti-caliphal movement
of the Khurramits (Khurramiyya) began ca 201/816–817. According
to the detailed account in Tabari, Al-Muʾtasim appointed Al-Afshin
governor of Jibal and commander in the war against Babak in Jumada
II 220/June, 835.17 By means of military power and secret diplo-
macy, Al-Afshin suppressed that movement in Ramadan 222/August,
837, captured Babak’s epicenter, the fortress of Badhdh and Babak
himself. It was the peak of Al-Afshin’s career. Caliph Al-Muʾtasim
honoured Al-Afshin with splendid robes and precious gifts, adding
the governorship of Sind to his existing ones of province Jibal. It is
uncertain if he retained Usrushana as his ancestral district or if he
governed it indirectly. He was not indifferent towards Usrushana, as
it is known that he sent there treasures which he had gathered when
in caliph’s service and from other resources. After the victory over
Babak, in 223/838, Haydar ibn Kavus, that is Al-Afshin, took part in
Anatolian campaign of Al-Muʾtasim, in the avant-garde of Caliphate’s
army. He attacked main forces of Byzantine army led by the emperor
Teophil, defeated them and forced them to retreat. He also marched
with the Arab army which captured the city of Amorion (Amorium).18
This event was commemorated by the poet Husayn ibn ad-Dahhak
al-Bahili who composed a qasida in which he glorified Al-Afshin’s
bravery. This poem, beginning with words: “The one protected made
firm the power of Abu Hasan more securely than the pillar of Idam”
is quoted by Al-Tabari.19
Having become the second man of importance, right after the
Commander of the Believers the Abbasid imam (khalif) Haydar ibn
17
Tabari, III. P. 1170 ff., trans., The History of al-Tabarī, vol. XXXIII. Storm
and Stress along the Northern Frontiers of the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate. The Caliphate
of Al-Muʾtasim A. D. 833–842/A. H. 218–227, pp. 14 ff. See also Z. Buniyatov, op.
cit. pp. 257 ff.
18
Z. Buniyatov, op. cit. p. 275. Apud Tabari, The History, vol. XXXIII, p. 119:
„the twenty-fourth of Shaʾbān (July 21, 838)”.
19
See Tabari, op. cit., III, p. 1256, trans. by C. E. Bosworth, p. 120 [ibid., remark
by C. E. Bosworth: al-maʾsum, by God, i.e., al-Muʾtasim].
92 Jerzy Hauziński
Kavus, Al-Afshin was envied by other commanders. He was hated

especially by his subordinate Arab Ujayf ibn Anbasa, who, together
with caliph Al-Muʾtasim’s nephew, Abbas ibn Mamun and with
a group of other commanders hatched a plot to assassinate both, the
caliph and Al-Afshin. The plot, however, proved to be a failure. The
caliph handed Abbas over to Al-Afshin, who starved him to death in
prison. Ujayf ibn Anbasa died in prison where he was probably as-
sassinated. Al-Muʾtasim had all the wives and children of his nephew
slain. Al-Afshin’s influence reached its peak, which was only two
years before his fall.20
The first signs of caliph al-Muʾtasim’s mistrust towards al-Afshīn
are believed to have been triggered by one of the subordinates of
the caliphate commander in chief and his kinsman21 Minkajūr al-
Ushrūsanī (Usrūshanī).22 When Al-Afshīn with captured Babak set
off to Samarra, which was then the Abbasid capital, he entrusted the
governorship of Azerbaijan to Minkajūr. Among described events of
the year 224 [23.11.838–12.11.839] Al-Tabari made such a note: “In
this year Minkajūr al-Ushrūsanī, a kinsman of al-Afshīn, rebelled in
Ādharbayjān.”23 Having captured the old Babak’s capital, Minkajūr
“came across a large sum of money, which he then appropriated for
himself without either al-Afshīn’s or al-Muʾtasim’s knowing about
it.”24 Appropriating such a treasure by Minkajūr was reported to
the caliph by the head of the postal and intelligence service for the
province of Adharbayjan, Abd Allah ibn Abd ar-Rahman.25 Minkajūr,
forced by the caliph to give an explanation, denied Abd Allah ibn Abd
ar-Rahman’s accusations and decided to eliminate him on his own
initiative. However, Abd Allah turned for help to the inhabitants of
the city of Ardabil, who had already been oppressed by Minkajūr. In
20
G. H. Sadighi, op. cit., pp. 294–304, E. Herzfeld, op. cit., pp. 147–150.
21
Al-Yaʾqūbī, Taʾrīkh, Ed. M. T. Houtsma, p. 579 in this work is described as
Minkajūr al-Farghānī and as the maternal uncle of one of al-Afshīn’s sons.
22
Professor C. E. Bosworth gives his name in his own translation of The History
of al-Tabarī (vol. XXXIII) in the form: Minkajūr al-Ushrūsani see Index, p. 235.
23
Tabari, III, p. 1301, trans., p. 175, see Herzfeld, op. cit., p. 144.
24
Tabari, l. cit., trans. pp. 175–176.
25
See above : Z. Buniyatov, Azerbayjan v VII–IX vv., p. 273 (in Russian).
effect, the mutinous governor decided to wage war against the people
of Ardabil. Al-Tabari writes: “News of this reached al-Muʾtasim, who
thereupon ordered al-Afshīn to send a man to remove Minkajūr from
office; so al-Afshīn dispatched one of his commanders with a power-
ful army. When Minkajūr heard about this, he threw off allegiance,
gathered around himself the vagabonds and desperadoes [al-saʾalik],
and left Ardabil. Al-Afshīn’s commander spotted and attacked him,
and Minkajūr was put to flight.”26 Minkajūr took refuge in the moun-
tains, occupying one of the destroyed fortresses which used to belong
to Babak and put up stiff resistance to the troops of the commander
of the Abbasid army Bughā al-Kabir. However, “it has further been
said that when Bughā encountered Minkajūr the latter went out to
him with a guarantee of safe-conduct.”27 Minkajūr was brought to
Sāmarrā, where the caliph ordered him to be imprisoned. In the con-
text of those events Al-Tabari makes an explicit remark: “al-Afshīn
also came under suspicion regarding Minkajūr’s affair.”28 The matter
is described slightly differently by a historian and the author of a fa-
mous geographical work al-Yaʾqūbī, who wrote after al-Tabari. Under
224 Y. H. he made such a note: “In [that year] in Warthan29 rebelled
Muhammad ibn Ubayd Allah al-Warthānī and al-Afshīn dispatched
against him Minkajūr, who was the amir of a twenty-thousand-strong
army and who substituted Al-Afshīn in Adharbayjan.”30 The caliph,
however, forgave al-Warthānī, gave him a guarantee of safe-conduct
(aman) and ordered to stop all military operations carried out against
him, but Minkajūr did not submit to al-Muʾtasim’s will. In the province
of Adharbayhan, which had been entrusted to him earlier he “broke
away [from the caliphate] and, having joined forces with Babak’s
adherents, he stormed Warthan and killed [there] Muhammad ibn
26
Tabari, III, p. 1301, trans., p. 176.
27
28
Ibidem; Bosworth: „I.e., for allegedly inciting Minkajūr to rebellion”, note
497, Tabari, trans., p. 176.
29
Warthān – a town on the south bank of the Araxes, on the border between
Mūqān and Arran to the north of Barzand. See G. Le Strange, Lands, pp. 176–177.
30
Al-Yaʾqūbī, Taʾrīkh, II, pp. 580–581; also in al-Balādhurī, Abū al-Hasan Ah-
mad b. Yahyā, Futūh al-buldān, ed. M. J. de Goeje as Liber expugnationis regionum.
Leiden 1866, p. 329.
94 Jerzy Hauziński
Ubayd Allah al-Warthānī as well as some people loyal to the ruler

[i.e. the caliph].”31 Caliph al-Muʾtasim ordered al-Afshīn to capture
the disloyal governor. The army under Abu al-Sāj Diwdād was sent
against Minkajūr, and in the meantime the caliph realized that it was
al-Afshīn who advised Minkajūr to attack the caliphate. Therefore,
he is said to have recommended prudent actions towards Minkajūr’s
contingents, and even simulation of giving them support.32 Finally, as
it has already been said, Minkajūr, after fierce resistance, surrendered
to the caliphate’s forces and was taken to Samarra. Imprisoned, he
gave evidence against al-Afshīn stating that he had incited him to
act against the Commander of the Believers.33 Influenced by those
accusations, Michael the Syrian, the Jacobite Patriarch of Antioch
(1166–1199), writing at the close of the 12th century, mentioned in
his Chronicle that Minkajūr (Mangšour, Man[g]šaur) confessed to the
caliph that Afshīn (Aphšîn) had impelled him to rebel.34
The immediate reason why Al-Afshin was so suddenly ousted
from power and imprisoned was a letter denouncing him, written
by Khurasan’s governor Abd Allah ibn Tahir, who was constantly
contending with Al-Afshin, with the information that Al-Afshin was
sending caravans loaded with priceless treasure gained during the war
with Babak as well as during plunders of dependent provinces. More-
over, it was imputed that Al-Afshin had entered into secret collusions
with rebellious Tabaristan’s Ispahbad, Mazyar ibn Qarin (224/839).
It is assumed that: “Afšin allegedly encouraged Māzyār in secret, in
the hope that Abdallāh b. Ṭāher would be deprived of his governor-
ship and he Afšīn, would fall heir to it. But Māzyār’s rebellion was
quashed, and Afšīn’s position now became increasingly difficult.”35
31
Al-Yaʾqūbī, op. cit., p. 583.
32
Ibidem, p. 584; see A. S. Tritton, Sidelights on Muslim History, BSOAS,
XXI/3. 1958, p. 465.
33
Tabari, III, pp.1315–1316, trans., p.197.
34
Chronique de Michel Le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche (1166–1199).
Éditée pour la première fois et trâduite en français par J.-B. Chabot, vol. III, part 2,
Paris 1906, p. 102.
35
See C. E. Bosworth, „Afšhīn”, EIr.
A version given by the Persian historian Ibn Isfandiyar (died after

1216) over four hundred years later does not seem very plausible.
According to him, Mazyar was to confess to Abd Allah ibn Tahir:
“You should know that me, as well as Afšin Haydar ibn Kavus and
Babak communicated with one another for a very long time and we
finally decided to take the empire away from the Arabs and restore
it to the shape it had during Khusrau’s reign. Yesterday, in a certain
place, Afshin’s messenger came to me and whispered something into
my ear.” “What did he whisper?”, Abd Allah ibn Tahir asked. “He
brought me Afshin’s decision that he was going to take certain action
on a given day and on a given time to kill Al-Muʾtasim and his sons,
Harun al-Wathiq i Jafar al-Mutawakkil.”36
This account points to earlier accusations which can be found
in classic Arab and Persian literature, and probably also to a certain
extent in oral tradition. The account of Al-Tabari proves that Al-
Afshin rejected accusations of hatching a conspiracy with Mazyar.
According to it he claimed that by entering into correspondence with
Tabaristan’s Ispahbad, he wanted to persuade Mazyar to join him so
that he could hand him over to state authorities in order to win caliph’s
greater trust.37 However, it can be assumed that Al-Afshin did not
intend to crush Mazyar’s rebellion swiftly, just like he did not hurry
to defeat Babak. Strategy and tactics, personal benefits, and rivalry
with Tahirids had a taming effect on the speed of Al-Afshin’s army.
As far as this last aspect is concerned, Professor C. E. Bosworth is
definitely right when he states: “During the revolt in Ṭabarestān of
Māzyār b. Qāren (224/839), the Espahbad of that region–a revolt
which had been stimulated by Māzyār’s jealousy of Taherid attempts to
interfere directly in the Caspian provinces – Afshin allegedly encour-
aged Māzyār in secret, in the hope that Abdallāh b. Tāher would be
deprived of his governorship and he Afshin, would fall heir to it. But
36
Ibn Isfandiyār, Muhammad b. al-Hasan. Taʾrīkh-i Tabaristān. GMS II. Leiden
and London, 1905, p. 155 (in Russian trans. by Z. Buniyatov, op. cit., p. 282. Ibn
Isfandiyār’s work [ed. E. G. Browne] is in Poland inaccessible).
37
Tabari, III, 1312, trans., p. 191.
96 Jerzy Hauziński
Māzyār’s rebellion was quashed, and Afshin’s positin now become

increasingly difficult.”38
As it has been mentioned before, Al-Afshin by his rise in hierarchy
and gaining privileged position naturally made many enemies. Among
them there were Tahirids, who believed he was a claimant to Churasan
lands. A rebel Mazyar ibn Qarin, discredited for Abbasid authorities,
tried to use Al-Afshin as his alleged partner in the campaign against
the caliphate. He took advantage of Al-Afshin’s negotiations intended
to force Mazyar to submissiveness, if not to capitulation to the caliph-
ate. His accusations were later recognized as evidence, but it did not
save the Tabaristani dynast. Finally, Mazyar imputed to Al-Afshin to
have crudely persuaded him to be his accomplice in the assassination
of caliph Al-Muʾtasim. According to certain sources, Al-Afshin con-
sidered poisoning the ruling caliph.39 He was also accused of having
appropriated a considerable sum of valuables with which he reputedly
intended to escape to Usrushana, first to northern Caucasus, and then
across the Khazar territory. All those accusations, in fact considerably
divergent, might suggest that he might have become a victim of an
influential coterie in the caliph’s court which intended to eliminate
him. Although available sources do not provide certain proof if he
actually plotted against Al-Muʾtasim, or if he was groundlessly ac-
cused by his enemies, his aspirations for gaining a certain degree of
independence from the caliphate are noticeable.
In the atmosphere of intrigues, schemed by his enemies, Al-Afshin
was summoned to Samarra as the accused. Al-Tabari provides the
most reliable information on the trial and the character of accusa-
tions.40 Opponents of Al-Afshin wanted to prove that he committed
high treason, but above all that he rejected Islam, which means that
he became the apostate from this religion. Both cases were punish-
able with the death penalty. The trial itself was conducted secretly
in the caliph’s palace.41 Recently nominated vizier Muhammad ibn
38
Bosworth, l. cit.
39
See Tabari, III, p. 1306, trans., p. 182–183.
40
See Tabari according on the words of Harun b. Isa b. al-Mansur, Taʾrīkh al-
rusul wa-al-mulūk, III, pp. 1308–1311, trans., pp. 185–190.
41
E. Herzfeld, op. Cit., p. 147.
az-Zayyat acted as the prosecutor. He managed to gather numerous

witnesses and pseudo-witnesses who were to support his accusations.
First, two dressed in threadbare garments were summoned and they
uncovered their backs which were stripped of flesh. According to Al-
Tabari, Ibn az-Zayyat asked Afshin: “Do you know these two men?” He
replied: “Yes, this one is a muezzin and the other an imam. They built
a mosque in Ushrusanah, so I gave each of them 1,000 lashes because
there exists between me and the princes of al-Sughd a covenant and
stipulation that I should leave each people to their own religion and
beliefs. These two men fell upon a house that contained their idols
and then threw out the idols and turned it into a mosque. I accordingly
gave them 1,000 lashes each because of their transgression and their
keeping the people from their place of worship.”42
Making accusations of paganism, vizier Muhammad ibn Zayyat asked
him, “What is a certain book that you have and that have ornamented
with gold, jewels, and satin brocade and that contains blasphemies
against God?” Al-Afshin explained that it was a Persian book which
he had inherited from his father and which contained some of the wise
counsels of the Persians. He took from it what was wise and true, and
he ignored the rest. Addressing the vizier who was accusing him, he
said: “But in your house there is the Book of Kalilah and Dimnah,
and the The Book of Mazdak.”43 The context of the phrase in Arabic
allows to assume that both titles refer to fables.
Another witness was a Magian, Mobadh. He accused Al-Afshin of
eating the flesh of strangled beasts, namely killed in a way infringing
upon the rules of ritual slaughter halal, and of holding Muslim customs
in contempt, as he had never used depilatories on his pubic hair or
been circumcised. At that moment Al-Afshin expressed indignation
because Mobadh declared that he intended to abandon his religion
and to convert to Islam. Al-Afshin asked how it was possible to accept
42
Tabari, III, p. 1309, trans., 187.
43
Tabari, III, p. 1309, trans., p. 188. In case of Book of Mazdak G. H. Sadighi, op.
cit., 295 n. 2, cites the Persian scholar ʿAbbas Iqbāl to the effect that it is not a Kitāb
Mazdak but a Kitāb Marwak [cf. the reading in Tabarī’s text: M.r.w.t.k.]. According
to Bosworth: „Marwak was a legendary person to whom aphorisms and wise sayings
were attributed (…)”, see n. 537 to The History of al-Tabarī, vol. XXXIII, p. 188.
98 Jerzy Hauziński
testimony from such a man: “Was there any door running between
my house and yours or any garret window by means of which you
could look down upon me and know what I was doing?”44 When
Mobadh admitted that there was no such a thing, Al-Afshin exclaimed
that he should not be trusted and added that he turned out not to be
trustworthy. Later, Al-Afshin was accused by another Iranian notable
who had probably been prepared to his role before. He began his
speech with a seemingly innocent question, “How do the people of
your province address you in correspondence?” Al-Afshin guessed
that it was a cunning stratagem and he answered cautiously that they
addressed him just as they used to address his father and grandfather.
He was asked to explain it but he refused. The prosecutor did it in-
stead saying that a certain formula was used which in the language
of Usrushana meant: “To the God of Gods,” which implied that Al-
Afshin claimed to possess the power of Pharaoh condemned in the
Koran.45 His statement that it was only the harmless custom of his
people which he held dear, did not bring the result he had expected.
Then Mazyar, the prince of Tabaristan, imprisoned by Al-Muʾtasim,
accused Al-Afshin of writing to him treacherous letters in which he
called caliph’s soldiers dogs and flies. Al-Afshin denied categorically
and explained that even if they had entered into correspondence, they
did it in order to seize Mazyar and bring him to the caliph.
Towards the end of the trial Ibn Abi Duwad, the supreme judge of
the caliphate, asked Al-Afshin if he was circumcised. Former com-
mander in chief answered that he was not and Ibn Abi Duwad asked
why. Then he explained that circumcision “signifies completion of
one’s Muslim faith and purification from uncleanliness.” Al-Afshin
replied: “Is there not a place in the Islamic faith for prudent dissimu-
lation? I was afraid to cut that member of my body, lest I die,”46 but
this argument did not sound convincing for the prosecutor. Ibn Abi
Duwad retorted, “You may be pierced with spears and struck with
swords, but still that does not prevent you from engaging in battle;
44
Tabari, III, pp. 1310–1311, trans., 189. See islamic context of this accusation
45
Qurʾān, LXXIX: 24, taken as revealing Pharaoh’s pretentions to divinity.

46
yet you are anxious about cutting a foreskin!”47 Al-Afshin replied,

“That first eventuality is a necessary affliction that may befall me,
and I shall have to bear it when it occurs. But this last is something
that I would draw upon myself voluntarily, and I am not sure that it
might not involve my death. Moreover, I was not aware that the omis-
sion of being circumcised means the renunciation of Islam.” After he
was imprisoned, Al-Afshin told his inmate that the question of the
supreme judge was a cunning stratagem because if he had said that
he had not been circumcised, he would have been condemned, and if
he had claimed otherwise, he would have been ordered to prove it by
public exposure. “Death would have been preferable for me, rather
than exposing myself before all the people,”48 he confessed.
In this farce of a trial Al-Afshin proved that the charges brought
against him were groundless, but, as Hugh Kennedy puts it, “in such
a trial there can be only one verdict.”49 Ibn Abi Kuwad announced
that Al-Afshin’s guilt had been proved and he ordered a Turk called
Buga (an Ox) Al-Kabir (The Older) to take the prince to prison. His
neck was bound with a rope and he was led out. There are various
versions of the circumstances of his death.50 From available accounts
it appears that the caliph, after imprisoning Al-Afshin, at first delayed
having the former commander in chief executed. Although he was
found guilty of the betrayal of both Islam and the caliphate, Al-Afshin
still enjoyed high prestige in the military circles. Moreover, he had
many supporters in the capital and in the provinces.51 However,
when he died, his body was hanged on the gallows in front of the
palace gate and exposed to public view to be later burnt and thrown
into the Tigris River.
47
Tabari, III, p. 1313, trans., l. cit.
48
Tabari, l. cit. Bosworth’s trans.: „But this last is something that I would draw
upon myself voluntarily, and I am not sure that it might not involve my death.”
49
H. Kennedy, The Court of the Caliphs. The Rise and Fall of Islam’s Greatest
Dynasty, London and New York, 2004, p. 268.
50
Ibn al-Athīr, Al-Kāmil fī at-taʾrīkh, vol. VI, Cairo 1301 (1883/1884), p. 366–367.
See H. Kennedy, ibidem.
51
Z. Bunijatov, op. cit., p. 281.
100 Jerzy Hauziński
From Al-Afshin’s trial it can be concluded that his staggering and

short career in the top circles of Abbasid state, which he made by
suppressing dangerous rebellions of enemies of the caliphate power,
won him many opponents. Moreover, he did not have a strong power
base in his comrades-in-arms, neither in the true ones, nor in so called
“Turks”, whose dullness he despised. He was, however, a dedicated
executor of Abbasid’s military and political decisions, which he
proved by suppressing the Khurramits’ movement, Mazyar ibn Qa-
rin’s rebellion, the plot devised by caliph al-Mamun’s nephew Abbas,
cooperating with an Arab Ujayf ibn Anbasa, or by gaining brilliant
victories over Byzantium and capturing Amorion. A certain degree of
insouciance towards the rituals of Sunni Islam, only recently introduced
in Muslim umma and, therefore, not deep-rooted, especially among
neophytes, served only as an excuse to press charges against him as
an apostate from Islam. On the basis of available sources it is difficult
to state whether he had a broad political horizon, but he definitely
showed common sense, not resorting to religious intolerance, which
would alienate newly converted to Islam Iranian and Central-Asian
princes from their Abbasid masters. It is unquestionable that he tried
to make Usrushana the centre of his future activities, outside the
court, as did the Tahirids ruling Khurasan. It is difficult, however, in
both their case and the case of Al-Afshin’s rise and fall, not to notice
a clear contradiction between the formula of Islamic monolith under
the aegis of Abbasid caliphs and real independence of eastern parts
of their empire.
Pontifical University of John Paul II in Krakow
Jagiellonian University in Krakow
The Melkites – “people of the

emperor” in Abbasid Baghdad and
Central Asia
In Syria and northern Mesopotamia Monophysitism found favour-
able conditions and was accepted to a higher degree than the Orthodox
decrees of the Council of Chalcedon (451). Because the emperor
supported the decrees of this council the followers of the orthodox
doctrine were called “Melkites”, meaning “people of the emperor.”
They were connected with the Greek culture to a considerable extent.
The term “Melkite” was taken from the Syriac word malaka and the
Arabic word malik – both meaning “king”, as the equivalent of the
Greek bazilikos.1 In the territories of Syria and Mesopotamia the term
was accepted completely after the Muslim conquests. The sources
1
Cf. E. Wipszycka, Kościół w świecie późnego antyku, Warszawa 1994, 248 ;
J.-P. Valognes, Vie et mort des chrétiens d’Orient, Paris 1995, 285–286; J. Madey,
Melchicki kościół, in: J. Assfalg, P. Krüger, Słownik chrześcijaństwa wschodniego,
Katowice 1998, 206. It is worth stressing that the term was used for the first time by
the Monophysite Copts in the year 460 to define the Catholics faithful to Timothy
II Solofaciolus (1° 460–475; 2° 477–482), Orthodox Bishop of Alexandria, protégé
of the Byzantine Emperor Leo I (457–474). Cf. Sacra Congregazione Orientale,
Statistica con cenni storici della Gerarchia a dei fedeli di rito orientale, Città del
Vaticano 1932, 134. Today scholars do not accept uncritically the thesis that the
religious divisions were the same as the national divisions because Monophysitism
very often mention this term, for example during the reign of the
Nestorian Patriarch Timothy I (d. 823).2
The legacy of the Christological disputes in the

Abbasid Caliphate
During two centuries of the Muslim conquests the politics of the
Byzantine emperors, especially that of Justinian I (527–565), aimed
at a strict connection between religion and the state.3 Naturally, all
the hetero-orthodox movements were not accepted by the authorities
since they were seen – not without any grounds – as threats to the
domination of Greece over the East. Justinian I played a decisive
role in the doctrinal dispute between the Orthodox option and the
Monophysites.4 The emperor’s decree of 543 (or 544), which was to
incline the Monophysites to accept the regulations of the Council of
Chalcedon, became a hotbed of a long and unresolved disagreement.
The fifth ecumenical council, which Justinian ordered to be held in
Constantinople in the year 533, did not bring about unity and the ad-
ministrative persecutions of the Jacobites and Copts sealed the schism.
In the 9th century one could differentiate between the Chalcedonian
had its followers in Greek cities as well. However, in the Greek world this trend was
represented as the stand of the decisive minority.
2
Cf. P. Dib, L’Eglise maronite, vol. I, Paris 1930, 157; V. Parlato, L’ufficio
patriarcale nelle Chiese orientali dal IV al X secolo, Padova 1969, 27; E. Przekop,
Wschodnie patriarchaty starożytne, Warszawa 1984, 179.
3
For details concerning the politics of Justinian I, see Procopii Caesariensis
opera omnia, ed. J. Haury, vol. I–III, Lipsiae 1905–1906; Theophanis chronographia,
ed. C. de Boor, vol. I–II, Lipsiae 1883–1885 ; Ioannis Malalae Chronographia, ed.
I. Thurn, Berolini 2000; Agathiae Myrinaei Historiarum libri quinque, ed. R. Keydell,
Berolini 1967; T. Wolińska, Justynian Wielki, Kraków 2003; R. Browning, Justynian
i Teodora, tr. M. Boduszyńska-Borowikowa, Warszawa 19952; G. G. Archi (ed.),
L’imperatore Giustiniano. Storia e mito, Milano 1978.
4
Cf. M. A. Cassetti, Giustiniano e la sua legislazione in material ecclesiastica,
Roma 1958; L. Bréhier, La politique religieuse de Justinien, in: Histoire de l’Église
dépuis les origins jusqu’à nos jour, ed. A. Fliche and V. Martin, vol. IV, Paris 1948,
437–482; E. Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire, Brügge 1949, 369–417; C. Capizzi,
Giustiniano I tra politica e religione, Soveria Mannelli 1994.
The Melkites – “people of the emperor” in Abbasid Baghdad and Central Asia 103
Melkites called Maximists (after Saint Maxim the Confessor [d. 662])
and the Chalcedonian Melkites called Maronites.5
In the first years after the Arab conquests the Monophysites and
the Nestorians did not lose anything after the authorities had changed.
However, one cannot precisely say that about the Melkites who were
privileged in the times of the Greek empire. Therefore, they got cool
reception of the new authorities. Their situation was very awkward and
many a time it was tragic. The Muslim authorities constantly suspected
them of maintaining contacts and conspiring with Byzantium, and the
Melkites who lived in the more central regions paid a high cost for
the Byzantine victories.6 It is estimated that in the turn of the 7th and
8th centuries (towards the end of the first age of Hijra) the Muslims
constituted ca 200,000 of the population of four million in Syria.7 The
Melkites constituted a community of ca 2 million people there. The
status of the Melkites in the world of Islam was extremely diversified,
depending on the epoch and region. Tolerance in the periods of war
was interwoven with persecutions and marginalisation in the times
of the long Byzantine-Arab wars. In the atmosphere of accusations
of collaboration with the Greeks the Melkites had the lowest status
among the Eastern Christians whereas the Jacobites enjoyed a privi-
leged position in Syria8 and the Nestorians were privileged in Iraq.
It was Caliph Yazīd II (724–743) that allowed a solemn installation
ceremony of the Monophysite Patriarch Elijah (709–722), which
had not taken place since the times of Bishop Severus of Antioch
5
Cf. P. Dib, L’Eglise maronite…, 146; E. Przekop, Wschodnie patriarchaty
starożytne, Warszawa 1984, 179; L. Duchesne, Origines du culte chrétien, Paris
1925, 66–67.
6
Cf. G. Troupeau, Kościoły i chrześcijanie na obszarze Wschodu muzułmańskiego,
in: Historia chrześcijaństwa Religia – kultura – polityka, vol. IV, Biskupi, mnisi
i cesarze 610–1054, ed. J.-M. Mayer, Warszawa 1999, 325.
7
Cf. H. Lammens, La Syrie. Précis historique, vol. I, Beyrouth 1921, 120–122.
See also G. H. A. Juynboll, Studies on the First Century of Islamic Society, Carbon-
dale 1983.
8
Cf. Chronique de Michael le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche, 1166–1199
A. D., ed. J.-B. Chabot, vol. II, Paris 1902, 480. More details in: W. Hage, Die syrisch-
jakobitische Kirche in frühislamischer Zeit, Wiesbaden 1966.
(512–518).9 In spite of the firm protest of the Melkites Patriarch El-

ijah also built a huge basilica in Antioch and a church in Sarmadae.10
The relationships between the Melkites and the Nestorians were bad
because the Muslims favoured the hetero-orthodox churches. This
policy deepened the prejudices between the hetero-orthodox Chris-
tians and the Melkites, which increased throughout centuries.11 The
Nestorians and the Monophysites had the occasion to “release” their
anti-Byzantine emotions. For instance, Michael the Syrian (d. 1199)
wrote, “The remembrance of Chalcedon is erased from the Euphrates
to the East.”12
After the Abbasids had moved the capital of the caliphate from
Damascus to Baghdad the decision-making centre of the empire was
transformed to the East. The Melkites had a weak position outside of
the traditional borders of Byzantium. Nevertheless, because of immigra-
tion and trade contacts the Melkite Church also grew in Mesopotamia
and Persia but it was the Nestorians13 and the Monophysites that
developed their ecclesiastical structures best in those lands. Currently,
it is difficult to reconstruct the condition of the Melkite Church in the
East outside of Byzantium in the epoch of the Abbasids. In spite of
the source problems it is worth trying to present the condition of the
Melkite Church in Baghdad and Central Asia in the discussed period
on the basis of the preserved materials.
9
Cf. C. Karalevskij, Antioche, in: Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie
ecclésiastique, ed. A. Baudrillart, vol. I., Paris 1912, 596.
10
Cf. Chronique de Michael le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche, 1166–
1199 A. D.…, vol. II, 490–491; Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum, ed.
P. Bedjan, Parisiis 1890, 298.
11
Cf. J. Nasrallah, R. Haddad, Histoire du mouvement littéraire dans l’Église
Melkite du Ve au XX siècle, part II, vol. I, Damas 1996, 58–59.
12
Cf. Chronique de Michael le Syrien, Patriarche Jacobite d’Antioche, 1166–1199
A.D.…, vol. II, 379–381.
13
Cf. V. L. Erhart, The Church of the East during the period of the four Rightly-
Guided Caliphs, in: “Bulletin of John Rylands University Library of Manchester”
78 (1996) 55–71.
The Melkites in Mesopotamia and Central Asia

The Greeks lived in the Sassanid Empire for ages. The first Greek
colonies originated in Persia during the reign of Alexander the Great
(356–323 BC). During the first ages of Christianity the number of
the Greeks was systematically growing in Mesopotamia and Persia.
The Greeks came there as merchants and prisoners of war during the
long period of the Parthians fighting with Rome. Most of the Greek
prisoners of war came from the territory of the Patriarchate of Antioch.
The Greek colonies were also founded inside the Sassanid Empire
because the Persians were in favour of the Greek settlements in the
vicinity of the Empire.
Some contemporary Melkite historians think that the Catholicate in
Ktesiphon originated from the Council of Nicea. However, we do not
possess any reliable sources to reconstruct the Melkite ecclesiastical
organisation in the Sassanid Persia and Mesopotamia before the 8th
century.14 But it is certain that there were some Melkite communi-
ties there when the Muslims began their conquest of Mesopotamia.
Thanks to the Syriac and Arabic sources we know about the exist-
ence of some Melkite monasteries and churches in the territories of
the former Persian Empire in the 7th century. First of all, we should
mention two monasteries near Arrağān. In one of them the prayers
were recited in Greek and in the other the monks prayed in the Syriac
language.15 In the year 723, the Melkite church was built in Kufa,
funded by the governor of Iraq Khālid ibn ʿAbd Allāh al-Qasrī (d.
743/4). The church was built for his mother who was a Christian
(rūmiya),16 whom in his ʿUyūn at-tawārīkh Al-Kutubī (13/14th century)
characterised as “unfaithful to the Prophet, believing in her priest,
the cross and baptism.”17
14
Melkite du Ve au XX siècle, part. II, vol. II, Paris 1979, 8.
15
Cf. J. Nasrallah, L’Église Melkite en Iraq, en Perse et dans l’Asie Central,
Jerusalem 1976, 41; J.-M. Fiey, Jean de Daylam et l’imbroglio de ses fondations,
in: “Proche-Orient Chrétien” 10 (1960) 195–211.
16
Cf. Maris textus arabicus, ed. H. Gismondi, vol. I, Roma 1896, 66.
17
‫ ;ﻛﺎﻓﺭﺓ ﺍﻟﻨﺒﻲ ﻣﯝﻣﻨﺔ ﻗﺴﻬﺎ ﻮ ﺍﻟﺼﻠﻴﺐ ﻮ ﺍﻟﻌﻣﺩ‬quoted after J. Nasrallah, L’Église Melkite
en Iraq, en Perse et dans l’Asie Central, Jerusalem 1976, 41.
The Melkites moved from Mesopotamia to Central Asia. It was

connected with the politics of the Sassanids who resettled many ethnic
groups. The Persians were eager to let the Greeks settle inside their
empire. We possess some testimonies that confirmed the presence of
the Melkite communities in Ktesiphon, Ğundīsāpūr and the province
of Al-Ahwāz. With time the Greek settlements developed outside of
Khorasan, reaching as far as Šāš (Tashkent).
Between the second half of the 6th century and the year 762 a certain
bishop of the Melkite colony Rūmiya received the title of Catholicos
and had jurisdiction over many metropolies and bishoprics in Asia.18
Where was this mysterious Rumagyris (Рωμαγύρις, ager Romano-
rum, Rōmagyris), which Ibrāhīm ibn Yūhanna (10th century)19 and
the Patriarch of Antioch Peter III (1052–1056)20 mentioned? The
dispute between historians and experts in Oriental studies concern-
ing the location of this town has not been explicitly solved. Some
scientists, using the Coptic sources, place this bishopric in Šapurgān
(present-day Šibirgān) in Khorasan.21 Others claim that Rumagird-
Rumagyris was a district of Nišāpur, the capital of Khorasan.22 Fi-
nally, some scholars, based on the information given by Ibrāhīm ibn
Yūhanna, place Rumagyris in Šāš, Central Asia, speaking precisely,
18
Melkite du Ve au XX siècle…, part. II, vol. II, 8–9.
19
Cf. Vie du patriarche melkite d’Antioche Christophore, par le protospathaire
Ibrāhīm ibn Yūhanna. Document inedite de X s., ed. H. Zāyat, in: “Proche-Orient
Chrétien” 2 (1952) 23.
20
Cf. Michaelis Cerularii patriarchae Dominici gardensis et Petri Antiocheni
episcoporum epistolae matuae, in: Patrologiae cursus completus. Patrologia Graeca,
ed. J. P. Migne, vol. CXX, 760.
21
Cf. E. Honigmann, Une Scala géographique copte-arabe et l’emplacement de
Romanopolis en Arménie, in: E. Honigmann, Trois mémoires posthumes d’histoire
et de géographie de l’Orient chrétien, Bruxelles 1961, 99.
22
Cf. C. Karalevskij, Antioche…, 612 ; E. Honigmann, Die Ostgrenze des byz-
antinischen Reiches von 363 bis 1071, Bruxelles 1935, 211–212.
in the vicinity of the present-day Tashkent.23 This last location has

been most widely accepted.24
The development of the Melkite communities in the

centre of the Abbasid Caliphate
Commencing from the fifth century onwards the territories of the
present-day Iraq were the lands of the intensive missionary activities of
the Nestorians. After the Arab conquests the golden age of the Nesto-
rian Church fell on the times of Abū al-ʿAbbāsa as-Safāha (750–754)
until the reign of Al-Mutawakkil (847–861), i.e. from the middle
of the 8th century till the middle of the 9th century. This spectacular
development of Nestorianism was possible due to numerous zealous
monks centred around their religious schools. In Baghdad itself the
Nestorians had their monasteries and schools with numerous pupils
and teachers. It is worth mentioning the most important monaster-
ies were Deïr Kalīlīšū, Deïr Mār Fatyūn and Deïr Karkh. In the two
last ones medicine and philosophy were taught apart from theology.
One can say that there were some “dynasties” of medical doctors
and educated Christians.25 The Nestorians played an important role
in the Muslim administration. In the courts of the caliphs they were
secretaries,26 i.e. ministers, royal physicians and governors. During
the reigns of the first Abbasid emperors the Nestorian Patriarch was
23
Cf. J. Nasrallah, L’Église Melkite en Iraq, en Perse et dans l’Asie Central…,
44–45.
24
Cf. for example N. Sims-Williams, Melkites, in: Encyclopaedia Iranica, http://
www.iranica.com/newsite/index.isc?Article, http://www.iranica.com/newsite/articles/
unicode/v5f5/v5f5a018.html, quotation of 28.01.2009.
25
Cf. M. Allard, Les Chrétiens à Bagdad, in: “Arabica” 9 (1962) 375–388,
especially 381; J.-M. Fiey, Chrétiens syriaques sous les Abbasides surtout à Bagdad
(749–1258), “Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium” 420, Louvain 1980.
26
Cf. L. Massignon, La politique islamo-chrétienne des scribes nestoriens de
Deir Qunna à la cour de Bagdad au IXe siècle de notre ére, in: “Vicr et penser” 2
(1940) 7–14; L. Cheikho, Les vizirs et secrétaires arabes chrétien en islam 622–1517,
“Patrimoie Arabe Chréten” 11, Jounieh-Rome 1987.
an important figure in Baghdad and the Church he ran was growing

rapidly in Central Asia, including China.27
In Mesopotamia there were also certain Melkite groups. That’s
why Antioch tried to reconstruct the Melkite Catholicate of Seleucia-
Ktesiphon. Ktesiphon was located on the northern-eastern bank of Tigris
opposite Seleucia (today its ruins are located ca 30 km of Baghdad).
In 637 Ktesiphon was conquered and plundered by the Muslims who
renamed the twin towns as Al-Madain. Ktesiphon was abandoned
after Caliph Al-Mansur (754–775) had transferred the capital of the
caliphate to Baghdad in 762. From that time Ktesiphon was gradually
falling into ruin and its buildings were used as sources of building
materials for the development of Baghdad.
In the year of the foundation of Baghdad the Melkites from Ktesiphon
were moved to the above-mentioned Rumagyris, identified with Šāš,
i.e. Tashkent.28 Soon it turned out that the population of the Melkites
grew rapidly in the new capital. Their number increased during the
subsequent Arab-Byzantine wars because many Greek Christians
were taken as prisoners of war. Apparently, the Melkites constituted
a considerable part of the population of Baghdad since one of the
districts of the Abbasid capital was called Dār ar-Rūm. The author of
Mārṣad al-ʿIṭṭilāʿ mentioned a church “reserved for the Byzantinians”
in the vicinity of the Nestorian basilica of the Blessed Virgin Mary
27
Cf. A. R. Vine, The Nestorian Churches: A Concise History of Nestorian
Christianity in Asia from the Persian Schism to the Modern Assyrians, London 1937,
19802, 130–135; J. Douvillier, L’expansion de l’Église syrienne en Asie centrale et
en Extrême-Orient, in: “Ostkirchliche Studien” 1 (1956) 223–242; K. S. Latourette,
History of Christian Missions in China, New York 1929 ; H. Bernard, L’extinction
des communauté chrétiennes sous le Ming, in: “Bulletin catholique de Pékin” 18
(1931) 467–478; H. Cordier, Le christianisme en Chine et en Asie centrale sous les
Mongols, in: “T’oung Pao” 18 (1917) 48–113; A. C. Moule, Christians in China
before the year 1550, with Nestorians in China, London 1940; D. Hickley, The First
Christians in China. An Outline History and Some Considerations Concerning the
Nestorians in China during the Tang Dynasty, London 1980; P. Pelliot, Recherches
sur les chrétiens d’Asie centrale et d’Extrême-Orient, vol. I. Paris 1973; in: P. Pelliot,
Chrétiens d’Asie centrale et d’Extrême-Orient, in: “T’oung Pao” 15 (1914) 623–644.
28
Cf. H. Zayat, Vie du patriarche melkite d’Antioche Christophore…, 20–23 ;
J. Dauvillier, Byzantins d’Asie centrale et d’Extrême-Orient au Moyen Âge, in:
“Mélanges Martin Jugie, Revue des études Byzantines” 11 (1953) 63–64.
called Saiydat al-Kursī, where the graves of the Nestorian patriarchs

were placed.29 It is worth stressing that the surname of the Muslim
poet, coming from Baghdad, Ibn ar-Rūmī (d 896) indicates that he
came from the Melkites that were called Rūm in Arabic. The growing
Melkite community needed a bishop. Therefore, they expected the
Catholicos of Rumagyris to settle in Baghdad. But this hierarch did
not want to move the Catholicate to the new capital of the caliphate.
That’s why the Melkites from Baghdad asked for help the Melkite
Patriarch of Antioch Elijah I (907–934).
The reaction of the Patriarch met the expectations of the faithful.
In the year 912, Elijah I sent Bishop John to Baghdad. However, the
Nestorian Patriarch Abraham III (905–937) energetically opposed
the establishment of the Catholicate. Since the Nestorian patriarchs
had extraordinary privileges in the caliphate. After the persecutions
of Caliph Mutawakkil (852) the Nestorian patriarch was the most
powerful ecclesiastical hierarch who claimed – having the consent of
the Muslim ruler – the right to rule over all Christian communities in
the caliphate.30 Abraham III forbade John to use the title “Catholicos”
and to develop the Melkite hierarchy in Baghdad. At the initiative
of the Nestorian patriarch the caliph’s administration was bribed
(according to Bar Hebraeus they were given 30,000 denarii, in turn
Mārī ibn Sulāymān wrote about 10,000 denarii as bribe31). John was
condemned, fined and forced to leave the capital. Soon after that ʿAli
ibn ʿIsa (859–946), wazir of Christian background,32 went to Elijah
29
Cf. M. Allard, Les Chrétiens à Bagdad…, 380; J. Nasrallah, R. Haddad, Histoire
du mouvement littéraire dans l’Église Melkite du Ve au XX siècle…, part II, vol. 2, 9.
30
Cf. M. Awwad, Dayr Qunna, in: “Al-Mašriq” 37 (1939) 180–198; L. Masignon,
La politique islamo-chrétienne des scribes nestoriens de Deir Qunna à la cour de
Bagdad au IXe siècle de notre ère, in: “Vivre et penser” 2 (1942) 7–14; L. Masignon,
Opera minora, vol. II, Beyouth 1963, 250–257; J. Nasrallah, L’Église Melkite en
Iraq, en Perse et dans l’Asie Centrale…, 59.
31
Cf. Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum…, vol. II, 235; Māri
ibn Sulaīmān, Maris textus arabicus. Ahbār batarikāt kursī al-Mašriq, min kitāb
al-Miğdal, Maris, Amri et Slibae De patriarchis Nestorianorum commentaria: ex
codicibus Vaticanis, ed. E. Gismondi, vol. I Romae 1896, 92–93.
32
For details concerning the politics of this minister, see D. Sourdel, Le Vizirat
ʿabbaside de 749 aà 936 (132 à 324 de l’Hegire), vol. II, Damascus 1959, 518–551.
I, the Melkite Patriarch of Antioch, with the ban on any Catholicos

or Metropolitan in Baghdad. The Melkites in Baghdad were only
granted the right to receive a bishop from the Patriarchate of Antioch
from time to time but he could not have his permanent residence in
the capital of the caliphate.33 It seems that the Melkite bishopric did
not originate in Baghdad before the 10th century.34 During the above-
discussed period the Nestorians dominated over the Christians who
lived in the capital of the caliphate.35
At first the issue of establishing a bishopric in the capital of the
caliphate was not positively solved. However, life brought new needs.
The attempts to create a Melkite Catholicate in Baghdad coincided
with the death of the Melkite Catholicos of Rumagyris, who had the
title of Catholicos of Khorasan then.36 Delegations from Central Asia
and Baghdad began coming to Antioch and requested the Patriarch to
determine hierarchy that would guarantee the stability of the Church.
However, Patriarch Agapius ibn Qaʿbarūn (before 960),37 about whom
historians know very little, did not dare to ordain a bishop for Bagh-
dad but he only appointed a new Catholicos for Rumagyris. After
Christophorus (960–967) had become the next Patriarch of Antioch
33
Cf. Gregorii Barhebraei Chronicon ecclesiasticum…, vol. II, 235; Māri ibn
Sulaīmān, Maris textus arabicus…, vol. I, 92–93; Bibliotheca orientalis Clementino-
Vaticana, ed. G. S. Assemani, vol. II: De scriptoribus syris orthodoxies, Romae 1719;
reprint New York-Hildesheim 1975, 440–441.
34
Cf. J.-M. Fiey, “Rum” à l’est de l’Euphrate, “Le Muséon” 90 (1977) 365–420 ;
J. Nasrallah, Réponse à quelques critiques récentes au sujet des catholicosats Melkites
de Bagdad et de Romagyris, POC, XXXIII (1983) 160–170.
35
Cf. S. K. Samir, Foi et culture en Irak au XIe siècle: Elie de Nisibe et Islam,
Aldershot 1996.
36
Cf. N. Sims-Williams, Melkites, in: Encyclopaedia Iranica, http://www.iranica.
com/newsite/index.isc?Article, http://www.iranica.com/newsite/articles/unicode/
v5f5/v5f5a018.html, quotation of 28.01.2009.
37
It is worth mentioning that V. Grumel did not write about Patriarch Agapius
ibn Qaʿbarūn. Cf. V. Grumel, Traité d’études byzantines I. La chronologie, Paris
1948, 446–448. His existence is signalled in the document of the 10th century, pub-
lished under the title Vie du patriarche melkite d’Antioche Christophore (967) par
le pnotospathare Ibrahim b. Yuhanna. Document inedite de X s., ed. H. Zayat, in:
“Proche-Orient Chrétien” 2 (1952) 25 and Histoire de Yahya-ibn-Saʿid d’Antioche,
continuateur de Said-ibn-Bitriq, ed. I. Kratschkovsky, A. A. Vasiliev, “Patrologia
Orientalis” 18 (1924) 770.
the situation changed. The new patriarch had good relationships with
emir Saif ad-Dawlah al-Hamdāni (944–967); thanks to this protection
he received the consent of the caliph himself to establish a catholicate
in Baghdad. The first Melkite Catholicos, residing in the capital of
the Abbasid caliphate became Māğid, titular bishop of Irenopolis,
coming from Aleppo, who was appointed between 960 and 967.38
The Melkite Catholicate in Baghdad was also mentioned in the An-
tiochian Notitia episcopatuum, which originated in the second half of
the 10th century.39 On the basis of some other sources it is known that
the Melkites remained in Central Asia. According to the testimony
of Ahmad al-Bīrūnī (973–1048) from his Chronology of Old Nations
(Kitāb Ātār al-bāqīa), written between the years 1000–1003, Marw
was the see of the Melkite Catholicos in Khorasan.40
Conclusion: the development and fall of the Melkite

Church in Baghdad and Central Asia
Unfortunately, we cannot reconstruct the list of the bishops of Baghdad
in the 10th century and in the next centuries due to incomplete sources.
We can only find some mentions about single Melkite Catholicoses
in the Middle Ages, which some sources gave. For example, in his
Typicon Nikon of the Black Mountain (11th century) mentioned the
Catholicos of Baghdad called John and placed the bishop’s ministry in
the times of the dux of Antioch Nicephorus Uranus (999–1006).41 In
the year 1258, Baghdad was conquered by the Mongols who tried to
38
Cf. Vie du patriarche melkite d’Antioche Christophore (967) par le pnotospathare
Ibrahim b. Yuhanna. Document inedite de X s.…, 29; J. Nasrallah, A propos des
trouvailles épigraphiques à Saint-Siméon l’Alépin, in: “Syria” 48 (1971) 168 (fasc.
1–2); J. Nasrallah, L’Église Melkite en Iraq, en Perse et dans l’Asie Centrale…, 60.
39
Cf. A. Papadopoulos-Kerameus, ΄Ελληνικος φιλολγικoς Σύλλογος, vol. XVIII,
Constantinople 1884, 65–67; P. S. Vailhé, Une „Notitia episcopatuum” d’Antioche
du Xe siècle, in: “Echos d’Orient. Revue d’histoire de géographie et de liturgie
orientales” 10 (1907) 90–101.
40
Cf. E. Schau, Abu-r-Raihan Muhammad Ibn-Ahmad al- Biruni: The Chronol-
ogy of ancient nations (Ātār al-bāqīa), Frankfurt 1969, 283.
41
Cf. J. Nasrallah, Un auteur antiochien du XI siècle: Nicon de la Montagne
Noire (vers 1025 – début du XIIe s.), in: “Proche Orient Chrétienn” 19 (1969) 150–162;
adapt themselves to the new environment.42 At first the relationships

between them and the Melkites were good. The Christian wives of the
Mongol rulers exerted some influence on the relationships; moreover,
the Melkite and Nestorian officials as well as the political interests
favoured the rapprochement.43 However, the wars, the Islamization of
the Mongols and Turkish peoples, the persecutions of Christians and
the Mameluks’ trade monopoly in the Far East resulted in breaking
the missions in Central Asia. Therefore, the final blow to the Melkite
Catholicate in Baghdad was inflicted by the conquests and the rules of
the islamized Mongols. Commencing from the end of the 8th century
the situation of Christians became more and more difficult. It was
Khan Gaykhatu (1291–1295) that forced Christians to wear special
marks. Soon, during the reign of one of the greatest Mongolian Khans
from the Chingiz dynasty in Persia Mahmūd Ġazan (1295–1304) there
was a complete Islamization of Mongols in the Sunni version. Then
one of the Mongol commanders wanted, feeling a surge of zeal, to
destroy all churches in the country. The local Christians suffered new
limitations. Their situation improved slightly in the times of Khan
Ölğejtü (1304–1316). After his death there was another wave of
Christians’ persecutions. For instance, in the year 1317 the Nestorian
patriarch was imprisoned and only after having paid 20,000 dinarii of
ransom he could leave Baghdad. Together with him most Christians
went to the neighbouring mountains. It was exactly during that time
that in southern Iraq Christianity representing various Churches was
completely destroyed. The oasis of Christianity in Iraq was Mosul.44
As far as the life of the Catholicate of Rumagyris existing in the
Abbasid period of the Middle Ages is concerned the information is also
very scarce. Basically, we know about the introduction of its division
V. Laurent, La chronologie des gouverneurs d’Antioche sous la seconde domination

byzantine, in: “Mélanges de l’Université Saint Joseph – Beyrouth” 38 (1962) 235–236.
42
Cf. J. M. Smith, Mongol society and military in the Middle East: antecedents
and adaptations, in: Y. Lew (ed.), War and society in the eastern Mediterranean
7th–15th centuries, Leiden 1997, 249–266.
43
Cf. J. Nasrallah, L’Église Melkite en Iraq, en Perse et dans l’Asie Centrale…, 91.
44
Cf. J.-M. Fiey, Mossoul chrétienne; essai sur l’histoire, l’archéologie et l’état
actuel des monuments chrétiens de la ville de Mossoul…, 52.
by Patriarch Christophorus. After that event the Catholicate embraced

the territories of Transoksania and Khorasan, i.e. only the territories of
Central Asia. The Catholicate called Irenopolis, which was created in
Baghdad, included approximately the territories of present-day Iraq.
The question remains whether it testified about the increase in the
number of the Melkites in the widely understood East, beyond the
traditional borders of the Melkite Patriarchates or whether it testifies to
a larger extent about the growth of the Melkite community in Baghdad.
Since the lack of sources does not allow us to confirm whether or to
which extent the Asian Catholicate of Rumagyris developed. What
was preserved is only some laconic notes from the Late Middle Ages
confirming the existence of single Melkite communities in Central
Asia. Thanks to these notes, for example we know about the exist-
ence of the Melkite community in Samarkand,45 which was probably
founded and maintained by the Greek merchants trading on the Silk
Route. Perhaps the Melkites living in Middle Asia carried out some
missionary activities. It is known that in the above discussed period
there were Christians among the Turkish peoples.46 Naturally, the
Nestorians’ missionary activities were the most intense ones in Asia.
Similarly to the Catholicate of Baghdad, the Melkites in Central
Asia hardly survived the Abbasid epoch.47 In 1307 the Dominical friar
Hetuʾm, with an Armenian background, mentioned the Melkites living
in Choresm. They were the Sogdanians submitted to the Patriarch of
Antioch, who used Greek, instead of their own language, in their litur-
gy.48 However, it seems that it is not completely reliable information.
Because of the lack of sources the information is difficult to verify. It is
most likely that Hetuʾm wrote about the Melkites from Šāš (Tashkent),
who moved to Choresm. One of the bulls of John XXII (1316–1334)
45
Cf. J. Dauvillier, Byzantins d’Asie Centrale et d’Extrême-Orient au Moyen
Âge, in: “Revue des Études Byzantines” 11 (1953) 62–87.
46
Cf. W. Barthold, 12 Vorlesungen über die Geschichte der Türken Mittelasiens,
Berlin 1935, 104.
47
Cf. J. Dauvillier, Byzantins d’Asie Centrale et d’Extrême-Orient au Moyen
Âge…, 69–87.
48
Cf. P. Pelliot, Recherches sur les chrétiens d’Asie centrale et d’Extrême-
Orient…, 117.
confirms the existence of the Melkites in Samarkand.49 Throughout

the entire period of its existence this Catholicate was connected with
the Melkite Patriarchate of Antioch, which was also confirmed by the
Armenian sources.50 The last preserved document, confirming the
existence of the Catholicate in Rumagyris, comes from the 14th century.
It is the act of the election of Pachomius I (anti-patriarch 1359–1361;
as patriarch 1° 1373–1376 and 2° 1378/1379–1387), which contains
the signature, “German, Catholicos of Rumagyris.”51 With time it
became the honorary title of the Georgian Catholicos.52
*
Just after the fall of the Catholicate of Baghdad the completely
isolated Melkite Catholicate in Rumagyris experienced the same
fate. The Melkites in Central Asia, controlled by the Muslim Mon-
gols, found shelter in Christian Georgia and Armenia. This was the
end of the Melkite presence in Baghdad and Central Asia where the
Christians belonging to this Church have never returned in the form
of Catholicates.53
Cf. M. le Quien, Oriens Christianus in quatuor Patriarchatus digestus; quo

49
Exibentur Ecclesiae, Patriarchae, caeterique Praesules totius Orientis, Parisiis

1740 (Graz 1958), vol. III, 1377; B. Altaner, Die Dominikanermissionen des 13.
Jahrhunderts, Habelschwerdt 1924, 48–50.
50
Cf. Recueil des historiens des croisades – documents arméniens, vol. II, Paris
1906, 264.
51
Acta patriarchatus constantinopolitani, vol: Acta et diplomata Graeca Medii
Aevi sacra et profana, ed. F. Miklosich, J. Müller, vol. I, Vindobonae 1860, 463–465.
52
Cf. J. Dauvillier, Byzantins d’Asie centrale et d’Extrême-Orient au Moyen
Âge…, 69–70.
53
Cf. J. Nasrallah, L’Église Melkite en Iraq, en Perse et dans l’Asie Centrale…,
92. For details concerning Christianity in Asia before 1500, see I. Gillman, H.-
J. Klimkeit, Christians in Asia before 1500, Ann Arbor 1999. In modern times, in
the 20th century, a small Melkite Church was founded in Baghdad. For details see,
Greek Melkite Church Baghdad, http://www.cssrb.com/page16.html.
Table of contents
Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Angelika Hartmann
Social Aspects in Caliph al-Nāṣir li-Dīn Allāh’s concept

of government . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Katarzyna Pachniak
The kalām proof for divine creation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Christopher Melchert
Māwardī, Abū Yaʿlá, and the Sunni Revival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Raif Georges Khoury
L’Avènement des Abbasides et son importance pour le

développent de l’écriture en Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Jerzy Hauziński
Al-Afshin – a traitor? On political particularism in the

caliphate of early Abbasids once again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
The Melkites – “people of the emperor” in Abbasid

Baghdad and Central Asia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101

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Prosperity and Stagnation

Some Cultural and Social Aspects

Orientalia Christiana Cracoviensia

UNUM Publishing House

Social Aspects in Caliph al-Nāṣir li-Dīn

partners served the very same purpose. He also reorganised differ-

greatest tragedies in Islamic history.9 The Mongols destroyed Baghdād

In a few words, these social movements were in an anarchic con-

4. Any fatā who maltreats a fellow-member is expelled from the

of the state. His policy had to be built necessarily on the common

for the futuwwa. In fact al-Suhrawardī’s oral and scriptural activities

charismatic function, the Imām comes to stand beyond consensus

pletely to governmental business.35 At the same time, he had opened

centuries. Unfortunately, the caliph’s efforts were nullified, only one

Abbreviations of the Arabic, Persian and Latin

The kalām proof for divine creation

terpretation, the physical universe must depend upon an incorporeal

of God’s attributes, but this conclusion seems to have been rejected

But it should be underlined that John Philoponus’ proofs for

A short time after al-Bāqillānī, his ʿAshaʿrīte follower, ʿAbd al-

exponent of the Ashʿarīte school. It is particularly discernible when

Oneworld, Oxford 1999, p. 199–233; K. Pachniak, Isma’ilickie wyobrażenia o naturze

Māwardī, Abū Yaʿlá,

Māwardī’s biography, espec­ially his personal involvement in politics.3

The Sunni Revival

World 27 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 351–66.

their title.12 As the Būyids weakened, the caliphs increasingly played

effectively founded the classical Shāfiʿi school by developing a regular

Chiefs of the Baghdadi Shāfiʿi School and Their

Gurgan, < Abū al‑Ḥasan al‑Māsarjisī (d. 384/994)28 in Nishapur, and

The Intellectual Lineage of Abū al‑Qāsim al‑Ṣaymarī

Not Māwardī but his contemporary Abū al‑Ṭayyib al‑Ṭabarī (d.

usually lack information concerning qadis outside the major centres.36

as impious, for which he feared to be punished but ended up being

ability of judicial rulings. A Shāfiʿi epitome would tell how a Shāfiʿi

detects rationalism in Māwardī’s continually presenting different

property to aʿqal al‑nās, those best under the control of reason, it

Abū Yaʿlá ibn al‑Farrāʾ

al‑Kalwadhānī (d. Baghdad, 510/1116) and Ibn ʿAqīl (d. Baghdad,

appar­ently anthropomorphic hadith. Against Ashʿari and Muʿtazili

Māwardī explains shortly that “ambiguity” refers to heterodox

Abū Yaʿlá goes on to relate two other versions of what Aḥmad

The most striking difference between the two books is to me that

(522–523). He disbelieves that the caliph would have benefitted from

daily ritual prayers in assembly accord­ing to all the jurisprudents

venient for my argument if I found that the Ḥāwī regularly mentions

MAS is expressly about the doctrines of the jurisprudents in general

section on removal, beginning with the declaration trans­lated above.

L’Avènement des Abbasides et son

pourtant on ne peut négliger le développement dans ce domaine qui

al-tārīkhiyya, 2e vol. : al-Kutub wa-l-maktabāt fī l-ʿuṣūr al-wusṭā – al-Sharq al-

islamiques. Il est clair que l’Islam, partout où il s’implantait, s’orga-

surtout sous le patronage de califes, et assez tôt comme on le verra

II. Le sens flexible du mot kitāb (livre)

III. Al-Dhahabī (673/674–748/1274–1348) et l’an

Ibid., 11, citant Al-Suyūṭī, Tārīkh al-khulafāʾ (éd. Du Caire 1964 ?)

Carl Brockelmann, Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur, Supplementbände

1–3, Leyde 1937–1942.

In a few words, these social movements were in an anarchic con-

4. Any fatā who maltreats a fellow-member is expelled from the

Oneworld, Oxford 1999, p. 199–233; K. Pachniak, Isma’ilickie wyobrażenia o naturze

Māwardī’s biography, especially his personal involvement in politics.3

effectively founded the classical Shāfiʿi school by developing a regular

ability of judicial rulings. A Shāfiʿi epitome would tell how a Shāfiʿi

apparently anthropomorphic hadith. Against Ashʿari and Muʿtazili

daily ritual prayers in assembly according to all the jurisprudents

venient for my argument if I found that the Ḥāwī regularly mentions

section on removal, beginning with the declaration translated above.

y avait là à cause de cela une tradition millénaire, autrement sûre

d’écriture est insignifiant comparé à la masse des pièces de toutes

Revenons au patrimoine préislamique qui a été codifié, sur ordre

Al-Afshin – a traitor? On political

by a Soviet – Azerbaijan Arabist and historian Ziya Buniyatov.4 In

pre-Islamic Iranian tradition, it is the name of a grandson of Kayanid

yet you are anxious about cutting a foreskin!”47 Al-Afshin replied,

V. Laurent, La chronologie des gouverneurs d’Antioche sous la seconde domination

Cf. M. le Quien, Oriens Christianus in quatuor Patriarchatus digestus; quo

Al-Afshin – a traitor? On political particularism in the